


color on the sidewalk

by fictionalparadises



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, okay it's like slow burn for impatient people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28149744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalparadises/pseuds/fictionalparadises
Summary: Maybe he should really just stick to minding his own business next time instead of accidentally getting a job and falling in love with his coworker.In his defense, it was amistake.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 62
Kudos: 245





	1. Chapter 1

Max is having a shit day. 

That has to do with an array of things; he stayed up late last night to finish a paper due today, he accidentally dropped his phone and cracked the screen, he forgot his laptop during a lecture and had to wait for two hours for the professor to return, and on top all of that, it’s pouring rain outside. 

He nearly slipped on the slick pavements not once, not twice, but _three_ _times._

He’s soaked by the time he makes it to the Blue Coast Coffee Company, and he thinks not even the comfortable heat that has settled inside the coffeeshop is able to melt the cold that has seeped into his bones. 

“Well, you look like shit,” the barista behind the counter says, barely even looking up from the espresso machine in front of him. His brown curls and golden skin contrast starkly with the grey haze Max just walked out of. 

“Thanks,” Max grumbles, shaking out his hair. “I feel like it too. What gave it away?” 

Daniel slides a steaming americano over the counter and waves away the cash that Max wants to hand him. “If the bags under your eyes wouldn’t, the rain-soaked clothes certainly make me pity you.” 

Max lets out a groan, dropping his backpack to the floor before sitting down on one of the stools at the bar. “You can take that up with my college.” He spins his cup around, brows arching as he looks back at Daniel. “Seriously? Did you make that up or did you forget my actual name?” 

Daniel throws a towel over his shoulder and leans one hand on the counter. “Don’t worry, _Max_ , there’s no possibility of forgetting your name. Since you come here, like, every day.” 

He thinks that maybe he should feel guilty for that, but he can hardly bring himself to, especially when Daniel brings the message with a grin. “So I’ve never once told you my name but you still know it. Have you been spying on me?” 

“You’re a regular, mate. ‘S almost like you’re as much a part of the cafe as the furniture,” Daniel shrugs, eyes shining. “Besides, you know my name, so it’s only fair.” 

Max’s eyes widen. “Mate, it’s not my fault that you’re getting yelled at three hundred times a day.” 

“And that you're somehow around every time it happens? I’d almost think you’re just here for me,” Daniel says with a wink, turning away from Max and towards the register when the door opens with a jingle. 

That’s not true. Obviously. 

He’d found the Blue Coast Coffee Company during his sophomore year of college, tucked in between a row of stores and restaurants on a New York side street, a twenty minute walk from Central Park and awfully close to the public library Max spends a lot of time studying at, or, well, used to spend a lot of time studying at. He’s found an excellent substitute for it, with a charming barista and amazing coffee that gets him going for hours on end. 

Daniel moves to make two chai lattes the moment the register shuts with a clink, and Max tries to not get distracted by his expert handiwork, opting instead to get his notes out of his bag and slamming them down on the counter a little too loud, which earns him a glare from Daniel. 

“Sorry,” Max mouths, clicking the back on his pen and turning his head to follow the two customers out the door. Immediately, his gaze snags on a familiar face walking past the shop window. Max turns back to his notes and groans loudly, hiding his face behind his hands. “Fuck, shit—god, no—” 

“What’s wrong?” Daniel looks up from where he’s cleaning the bar, eyes wide. His hand shoots up to his heart dramatically and he leans back as though he’s wounded. “Don’t tell me your coffee isn’t strong enough. C’mon, I already put two espresso shots in there, if I add any more you’re gonna start vibrating at an unearthly frequency—” 

“I have a very weird request,” Max cuts in, speaking before he can think this plan through, “I need you to be my boyfriend for a total of five minutes.” 

Daniel’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You need me to do what now?” 

“My ex-girlfriend is about to walk through the door with her new boyfriend and I’d rather—I’d rather—listen, it’s complicated, but I could really use the help right now. It’s just for five minutes, you’d really save my ass.” 

His brows slowly knot into a frown. “Why is it complicated?” 

Max starts to frantically gather his notes. The last thing he needs right now is to face her. “You know what, sorry for asking, it was stupid, never mind, I’m just gonna go—” 

Daniel huffs out a breath. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, mate.” The door opens, bell jangling joyfully, contrasting with the frantic beat of Max’s heart. He sits back down on the stool, tensely fixating on not glancing over his shoulder when he hears her soft voice carry through the air. “As if I don’t save your ass every single day," Daniel scoffs, then turns away, smile back on his face. “Good afternoon, what can I get for ya?”

Even before she orders, Max knows what she’s going to get. A flat white with almond milk, without sugar but with sweetener, _you can leave the plastic lid off, I won’t need it, thank you!_ Somewhere inside his chest, it stings, but it’s a dull ache, one that’s faded over the months that have passed since they broke up. 

Daniel’s eyes flicker between the espresso machine and Max as he makes the drinks, almost like he can see through him, and Max wonders if his skin has suddenly gone transparent, all his secrets laid bare. 

“Oh my god, Max?” comes from behind him barely a minute later, and he grimaces before forcing his expression into neutrality. Daniel stifles a laugh as he cleans mugs behind the counter and Max throws him a glare right as he turns in his seat, coming face to face with Dilara. 

“Hey,” he says, plastering a half-smile on his face. He has absolutely no clue what to say to her. 

“It’s been a while,” she says, “how have you been?” And maybe it hurts because she’s sweet, because it’s a genuine question without any poison behind the words, because her eyes shine with care and something else that Max thinks might be called _being in love_. 

“I’m good.” Max clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m good. Busy with college, you know how it goes. What about you?” He asks, eyes slowly landing on the man she’s holding hands with. Blue eyes, blonde hair—she seems to have a type. 

That realization is as useful as anything he’s ever learned in French class. 

“Oh, uh—Noah, you remember Max, right? From freshman year of college?” she vaguely gestures back and forth between them, and Max sticks out his hand, but all he gets in return is raised brows and a somewhat lewd glance. “We’ve been together for a few months now,” Dilara adds, smiling up to her boyfriend in a way that feels both familiar and alien at the same time.

Behind him, he can hear Daniel stumbling up and down along the counter, espresso machine whirring as he prepares the order for the group that just came in. 

“Half a year in a week,” Noah adds, looking directly at Max as he wraps his arm around Dilara’s shoulder. “Time flies by, right?” 

Max tries not to tense at the obvious jab, leaning one arm on the counter and splaying his hand on the cool marble. It doesn’t so much hurt that Dilara and him aren’t together anymore, it’s just painful that she decided to replace him with this prick. In the end, they separated as friends, anyway. This is really just a waste of effort and energy. 

“I suppose it does,” Dilara replies, throwing Noah a smile. 

“Hey, babe?” Daniel’s voice cuts through the silence, followed by the touch of fingers closing around his wrist. It takes Max a second to remember the plan, they had a plan, or, well, _he_ did, and he whirls around on the stool. “D’you want another americano?” Daniel’s expression is soft, eyes bright with not just his normal buzz but with mischief, too. Max almost rolls his eyes at that.

“Uh, no, I’m good. Thanks,” he replies slowly, flipping his palm to grab Daniel’s hand. Some stupid part of him revels in the way it feels. 

He blames it on the lack of physical contact he’s had the past weeks—months, if he’s being honest with himself. With the frenzy of college and the problem of roommates, he hasn’t exactly been able to get laid, nor has he actually felt the need to. 

When he turns back to Dilara, her eyes are wide as she stares at their joined hands, but then a smile breaks through on her face. “Who is this?” 

“This is my, uh—boyfriend—” Max starts, the last word coming out so strained that Daniel pinches him so hard he almost yelps. 

“I’m Daniel,” he says, throwing her one of his authentic grins as he sticks out his hand. Dilara, thank god, has the decency to step forward and take it. 

“I’m Dilara. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“The honor is all mine,” Daniel says with a small bow, and this time Max does roll his eyes. 

“You’re insufferable,” Max says, shaking his head.

Daniel raises his brow, placing one sassy hand on his hip. “Irresistible is the word you’re looking for, babe.” 

It’s going pretty smooth, and Max almost forgets that they’re just playing pretend. His cheeks burn at that thought, perfect timing for Daniel’s words. 

Dilara tilts her head. “So how’d you two meet?” 

That’s when Max’s brain short-circuits. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He hadn’t expected her to actually ask more than one goddamn question. 

“Max… works here,” Daniel struggles to get out, bracing his underarms on the countertop and covertly pinching Max’s skin again. 

Max almost asks, _I do?_ , then he nods solemnly. “Yeah. I work here.” 

“Really? I’ve never been here before, but it seems like a lovely place. Very close to the public library, as well,” Dilara nods in thought. 

Daniel lets out a laugh. “That’s what he says, too, then he proceeds to spend all his time studying here instead of at the library.” 

“Shut up,” Max whips around to point an accusing finger at him, “You promised to keep that to yourself. And it’s not like you mind.” 

He wonders how he even keeps a steady voice, because all he thinks is that Daniel noticed a lot more than he thought. They barely exchange more than five words every time Max is around. Briefly, Max wonders what else he’s picked up, what else he knows. 

Daniel throws his head back as he laughs, lifting his hands in defense. “Alright, alright. Calm down, princess.” 

It’s supposed to be a mocking nickname but blood rushes straight to Max’s cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears red. 

“Anyway, we should go,” Dilara says, a faint smile playing around her mouth as she stares at the two of them. “It was really nice to see you again, Max. And it was nice to meet you, Daniel. I’ll keep this cafe in mind the next time I’m nearby.” She means well, but those words are the exact ones Max does _not_ want to hear right now. 

“Great,” Max says through clenched teeth, and it sounds so forced that Daniel nearly fails to keep in a laugh behind him. 

“It was nice to meet you too!” Daniel offers as Dilara loops her arm through Noah’s. She gives one last wave before they exit the coffeeshop, doorbell jingling in finality. 

Max heaves a sigh, letting his shoulders slump the moment they are out of view. When he turns on his stool, he can barely stand glancing at Daniel. 

“Well, that was… something,” Daniel starts. 

“We could’ve gotten more Oscars for this performance than La La Land,” Max remarks after a moment of tense silence.

When he finally meets Daniel’s gaze, Daniel spontaneously bursts out laughing, and Max finds it hard to withhold a smile at the sound. 

“That was brilliant, mate,” Daniel says, shaking his head as he wipes away a tear under his eye. “Can’t believe we pulled that off.” 

“Oh, god,” Max mutters, the situation catching up to him. “And now she thinks I work here.” 

A new group of customers come in, and Daniel goes up to the register to take their orders. Max tugs at his hair, desperately trying to reason with what he just did. Yeah, it was fun, but _what the fuck did he just do?_

Daniel opens his mouth to say something to Max as he starts on the drinks, but the door opens and none other than the boss himself walks in, shrugging water off his coat and looking around the half-filled coffeeshop before they land on the duo at the counter. 

“You again?” 

“Christian,” Max nods, trying to ignore the accusatory undertone in the words. 

Christian just walks past, shaking his head and stopping in front of the door to the back to glance over his shoulder to Daniel. “Please just tell me he paid for his drink this time.” 

Daniel’s mouth opens, then closes, before a sheepish grin spreads on his face. 

“Christ,” Horner shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second. “He might as well start working here if he keeps copping all his orders.” A deep sigh, then, to Daniel, “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” 

The door closes behind him with a click, and Max and Daniel share a moment of bewildered eye contact. 

⁂

“Hey, man,” Lando greets him from where he’s stretched out on the couch, laptop perched on his lap. “There’s food in the fridge, if you still want dinner.” 

“Thanks mate,” Max says, putting the tupperware in the microwave and punching on the jet start button a few times. Then he plops down on the couch next to Lando, nearly sitting down on his ankles. 

“Do you want to render me immobile or something?” Lando scoffs, pulling in his legs and crossing them underneath his body. With half an eye fixed on his laptop, he asks, “Anything interesting happen today?” 

Max frowns, staring at the coffee table. “I got a job.” 

Lando does a double-take, attention now fully on Max. “Huh.” He tilts his head. “Funny enough, that’s not even the most shocking thing I heard today.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Max snorts, pushing at his knee and nearly hurtling him off the couch. 

“But please, do tell me where you got a job. More importantly why, because I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hire your sour face—” 

If Lando ends up bruised and battered from being thrown off the couch at the end of the night, it’s his own fault, really. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i am a sucker for clichés and what about it

“Macchiato?” 

“Espresso shot and milk foam.” 

“But…?” 

Max sighs. “But not the milk, just the foam.” 

They’ve been at this for nearly an hour now, Daniel naming a beverage and Max having to list whatever’s in it. It’s only his first day of working here, so it’s nothing short of logical that he doesn’t know all the answers, but Daniel has made it his personal responsibility to drill Max on the different types of coffee beans, all the ways milk can be prepared and which kinds of syrups he should and shouldn’t mix. 

“Cortado?” 

“Uuh,” Max starts, squinting his eyes. “Espresso shot and—and—” 

“…steamed milk,” Daniel finishes for him. The glint in his eyes tells Max that he’s enjoying tormenting him just a little more than he should. “Bicerin?” 

Max glares at him and folds his arm over the apron tied around his waist. “Now you’re just making up names.” 

“It’s an actual drink, mate!” Daniel lifts his hands in defense, but can’t keep in a laugh. “But you’re right, we don’t really sell that here.” 

Rolling his eyes, Max leans against the counter, watching the muscles of Daniel’s arms ripple as he squeezes out a dish-cloth above the sink and starts wiping down the counter with it. Blowing out a distressed breath, he finds that the few customers sitting in the front are suddenly very interesting. 

“You know what, I think I’ll stick to taking orders for now,” Max says, waving to the register, “since you’re so good at making the drinks, obviously.” 

Daniel looks up at him, mouth open. “You haven’t even tried making _any_ type of coffee yet!” 

Max stares back with raised brows, pushing himself off the counter when the door opens. “And I don’t see any reason to start now, mate. Maybe another day.” He turns to the customers with a smile before Daniel can reply. 

At least taking orders and punching in a few names on the register isn’t difficult. How does Daniel even know all the drinks from the top of his head, let alone that he’s able to make every single one of them? 

“So how many people work here, exactly?” Max asks after Daniel has sent off the customers with steaming cups of coffee, and he’s staring at the metal attendance board on the wall next to the door to the back. “You’re quite literally the only person I’ve ever seen around here. And that says a lot, considering—” 

“Considering you’re here every minute of the day?” Daniel ends the sentence for him, and Max rolls his eyes, shoving against his shoulder. “Okay, we have Nico, who’s an all-rounder too, then there’s Alex, who is the best baker I’ve ever met in my entire life. The reason you never see him because he always has his shifts at the ass crack of dawn—to bake everything, obviously,” Daniel waves a hand to the pastry display, already half-empty at this time of day. “Then we have Charles, who makes shakes and smoothies better than everyone, but he usually finds ways to get out of actually working. Oh, and we also have Esteban, but I don’t know where that man is half of the time, anyway. I think I see him twice a year at most.” 

Max, admittedly, has never heard of or seen these people once in his life, but underneath Daniel’s joking tone is also a certain fondness. “And then there’s you,” Max says, folding his arms, mouth curving up into a smirk. “What exactly are you good at?” 

Daniel’s head snaps to Max, eyes narrowing, before he smacks him with the rag in his hands. “You know what, I changed my mind, actually. It’s about time you learned how to make proper coffee.” 

“Wait, okay—I take it back—” Max protests, but Daniel’s fingers wrap around his arm and pull him to the coffee machine, planting him right in front of it. 

“Alright, let’s start with a regular espresso.” 

⁂

It’s been a week, and Max is pretty sure he’s getting the hang of this whole coffee shop thing. The three coffees he pushed over and the flood he’d caused beg to differ, but well, growth only happens after making mistakes. Daniel calls them _happy accidents_. 

“That makes you sound like a preschool teacher talking to a three-year-old who just pissed all over the floor,” Max had said at that. 

“Is that not what just happened, then?” He’d replied. 

In the meantime he’s met Alex and Nico, who he’s both taken a liking to, feeling instantly at ease with Alex’s soft manner and Nico’s sarcastic jokes, and maybe because Daniel feels so bubbly around them, too. He’s seen Charles only in passing, when he came in to drop off something for Alex. And it’s either the fact that he’s really attractive or is very handsy with Daniel, but something prevents Max from actually liking the guy. 

“So he’s French?” Max asked, prying the rag from Daniel’s fingers to clean the sink. 

Daniel hums in response. “Yeah. So is Esteban.” 

“I’m from Germany,” Nico calls from the back, unprompted. 

“No one asked you anything, Nico!” Daniel yells back from where he’s taken a seat on top of the counter, hands pushed under his thighs. 

There’s clattering, then— “I have a knife in my hands, _Daniel_ , so maybe think before you speak next time.” 

“I have two hands bigger than your ugly face, mate. If you wanna have a contest, you’re gonna lose.” It’s stupid but Max’s gaze is automatically drawn to his hands, Daniel wiggling them out from under his legs. 

Nico pops his head from the back, scowling at Daniel. “That was just uncalled for.” 

“So is your face.” Daniel blows a kiss towards him and Nico rolls his eyes before turning back into the kitchen, muttering to himself in German. 

Max tries really hard not to stare at Daniel’s hands, the long fingers now splayed on the counter, at the number 3 inked on the pinky of his right hand and a rose tattooed on his left hand. His eyes trail the veins running along the top of his hands, skin tan despite the fact that it’s still early spring in New York. 

He inhales a sharp breath and turns to the register, stacking cups to distract himself from doing anything other than stare at Daniel’s hands. If Daniel noticed, he doesn’t let on, he just continues, “Yeah, so, Nico is from Germany. Alex is from the UK, I’m from Australia…” 

“And I’m from the Netherlands,” Max finishes, turning to Dan with a tilted head. “Is there anyone that works here that is actually American?” 

Daniel squints his eyes. “Well, no.” 

Max snorts and shakes his head to himself, rearranging the sharpies in the cup next to the register. “So I move to the United States and the next thing I know is that I make zero American friends.” The three guys he shares his student housing with are British and French. So much for the American sentiment, he supposes. 

“You have me,” Daniel says as he hops off the counter, winking as he brushes past. “That’s better than any American friend you can make.” 

“Okay, true,” Max replies without thinking about it and they share a moment of eye contact, something in Max’s chest buzzing and cheeks heating. 

Something like a self-satisfied smile slowly appears on Daniel’s face. Then he clears his throat. “If you want, you can clock out. It’s a slow hour, so if you have any work for school left… feel free.” 

Max shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts spinning around in it. “Right, yeah. D’you mind if I just do it here?” He unties his apron and pulls the loop over his head, opening his mouth to explain that his roommates are loud fuckers and that he always feels at ease right here, but Daniel just shrugs. 

“Have I ever?” His tone is light but it still makes Max blush. Daniel points a finger at him, “But no more coffee for you. I refuse to contribute to your unhealthy caffeine addiction. All you’ll get from me is tea.” 

“You contribute to that on a daily basis, dear,” Max remarks as he gets from behind the counter and sets his backpack on top of the bar. 

Dan narrows his eyes. “Do you wanna get your ass kicked?” 

He lifts his hands in defense. “Alright, alright. Tea is fine.” 

Then Daniel flashes him an angelic smile and turns to grab a mug. “That’s what I thought.” 

⁂

March turns to April within the blink of an eye and Max finds himself struggling as he tries to juggle college and work, weeks’ worth of assignments stacking up until he’s wondering how in the hell he’s going to turn them all in. And he’s sure that if he told Daniel about it, he wouldn’t hesitate to take over a few shifts or talk to Christian about cutting back his hours, but the thing is that working makes him feel better than anything else in the world, because with the all-nighters he pulls to get his college work done, joking around with Daniel and seeing his smile light up the room is really the only thing that makes him feel lively again. 

Whenever it’s slow at work, he hops on a bar stool to work on an essay or write out some notes, reading emails from his professors with a sinking heart about another grade that’s slipping. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Daniel starts, glancing at Max from where he’s standing with the milk pitcher in his hands. 

Max hums in confirmation, not looking up from his laptop, eyes narrowed at the screen. 

“Why was it complicated?” 

“Why was what complicated?” He asks, gaze scanning the mail he just received. Shit, if he doesn’t get his grade up for thermodynamics, he’s busted. Finals are in little less than a month and there’s an essay due next week, and if he screws up then—

“With your girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend, I mean,” Daniel quickly adds, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

Max’s head snaps up, a crease forming between his brows. 

“I mean, I’m still wondering why I had to be your boyfriend for five minutes. Even though that was a month ago,” he says. 

This was certainly not the way he thought the conversation was going to go. “Uh, well…” Max starts, leaning his chin on his fist. He forgot he owed Daniel an explanation. “It’s not so much that I have problems with her. We dated for two years and when I ended things, it was kind of ugly at first. But we talked a lot and we’re still friends, I’d say,” he says, feeling a familiar tightness in his chest as he thinks back on the time he was together with Dilara. “It’s just that I can’t stand that smug son of a bitch she calls her boyfriend.” 

Daniel raises his eyebrows, mouth opening in a soundless o. “Right. And why’s that? Do you need me to punch his teeth out?” 

That tightness uncoils as fast as it curled around his lungs and Max lets out a breathy laugh. “I appreciate the offer, but maybe I should not become arch-enemies with him.” He adds, “Besides, if someone were to punch out his teeth, it would be _me_.” 

Daniel lets out a loud laugh, and it’s the one that Max loves because whenever he laughs like that he throws his head back and the skin around his eyes crinkles so much that they’re almost closed, only a vague twinkle of brown left to gaze at. 

After he quiets down, Max shakes his head softly and glances to the window to see the sky darkening. 

“I suppose I can’t answer your question with _it’s complicated_ again, can I?” 

Putting the milk pitcher on the counter, Daniel turns to Max and tilts his head. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

But that’s exactly the problem: Max wants to tell him. Because if there’s one person in the world he stupidly enough feels at ease with, it’s the barista in front of him. 

And not only is it truly irrational, it also deeply, deeply frightens him. 

Max is quiet for a moment, visibly hesitating. Then he breathes out, “Have you ever had someone tell you that you’re not as much as you think you are? Or it’s just in the way they talk to you or speak to you, that they make you feel like _less_.” He inhales deeply, shifting on the stool. It doesn’t really hurt that much anymore, talking about it now. “Dilara and I knew Noah from when we started dating and I wasn’t blind, I could see that he liked her. She didn’t know, obviously, but he… it was always within his words, that I’d lose her, that I wasn’t worthy of her. That he was better than me.” 

When Max looks up, Daniel is frowning at him, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he says, “The next time he comes in here I’ll make sure he can only eat liquid foods for the rest of his life.” 

Max lets out a laugh, something prickling in the back of his neck. “I appreciate the sentiment, mate.” He hopes that the dimmed lightbulbs inside hide the faint blush on his face. “It was shitty, of course, but I got over it pretty quick. Just couldn’t stand him getting here and seeing me, well, single.” 

Daniel leans forward over the counter and taps his index finger against the marble. “You know, I’ll be your boyfriend any time. Just gimme a shout and I’ll be there.” 

He swallows the remark that Daniel forgot to put the word _fake_ in there. 

Then Max barely has enough time to pull away his fingers before Daniel slams his laptop shut, pointing at him accusingly. “And now, young man, you’re going home. Enough studying for today.” 

He opens his mouth to object. “But—” 

“You’ve been here since eight this morning. You need your beauty sleep, because _this—_ ” Daniel waves to his face, “—is getting worse by the second.” 

Max lets out an overdramatically offended laugh, grabbing for his laptop, but Daniel snatches it from the counter and lifts it just out of his reach. 

He stares at him, unwavering, holding out his hand to get his laptop back. Daniel leans forward again, so close that their noses almost touch and Max can feel the breath fanning his face, and for one treacherous moment his eyes flick to Daniel’s mouth. 

“Go. Home.” 

He flops back on the stool, wondering if Daniel can hear how loud his heart is pounding in his chest. The whole block must be able to hear it. “Fine.” When he starts to gather his notebooks, he furiously hopes Daniel can’t see that his hands are shaking. 

As he walks to the student apartment, blowing out clouds of smoke in the chilly spring air, he knows he’s _screwed_. 

⁂

It turns out his roommates are a pain in the ass. Not because Lando, Pierre and George are sluggish or rude, but because they’ve banned him from pulling all-nighters. 

It started when Lando went to the bathroom in the middle of the night once and accidentally stumbled into the wrong room on his way back, rubbing his eyes and looking around wildly. “Why the fuck are you awake?” He’d asked, looking around Max’s room before his eyes fixed on him, sat at the desk in sweats and surrounded by notebooks and pencils and a mountain of energy drinks. 

Max had muttered some excuse about a deadline and Lando had shrugged before closing the door behind him, leaving him to it. 

But then George had done the same, and so did Pierre, and that accidental part suddenly wasn’t so accidental anymore. They were shit actors to begin with. 

And now Lando marches into his room at ten every night and pries Max’s laptop out of his hands, quite literally banning him from getting work done. Sneaking into Lando’s room at three in the morning is useless, too—trust him, he’s tried more than once already, and George and Pierre have teamed up with Lando so that his laptop can be in any of their rooms. 

Since earlier this week he’s resorted to staying at work after his shift has ended to write essays and go over notes. Blue Coast is open until 9.30 p.m. and if he’s lucky, Nico or Charles will allow him to study in silence as they close up, usually muttering something about being a workaholic and unhealthy student habits, but at least they let him be. 

He’s pretty sure Daniel wouldn’t agree _, if he knew_ , but Daniel doesn’t often work night shifts, though he undoubtedly would if he was allowed to work shifts longer than twelve hours. Daniel doesn’t know so that solves the problem, Max supposes. 

It’s Tuesday night and he has an essay due midnight, fingers flying over his keyboard frantically as he wonders how on earth he’s going to pump out an entire paper on industrial drafting that actually makes sense. 

He startles when a cup is slammed down on his corner table loudly and he looks up to meet Charles’ gaze, eyebrows raised. “You look like you need this.” 

Max takes the coffee cup that’s slid toward him and gives Charles a grateful nod. “Thanks.” 

He turns on his heel and strolls away. “We’re closing in thirty minutes!” 

That much for niceties. 

He lifts the mug to his lips and hisses at how hot it is—should’ve known, he’s always been impatient—and though it doesn’t nearly come close to how Daniel makes it, the americano is still good. 

He directs his attention back to the Wikipedia page about rapid prototyping and rubs his eyes with one hand, the other curled around the ceramic. 

Max doesn’t realize that twenty-five minutes have passed until the chair opposite of him scrapes over the floor loudly and his head snaps up. The two other customers that were here have left, and Daniel has taken a seat in front of him. Max’s eyes stray past the oversized hoodie he’s wearing to his hands, folded over his chest, contrasting with the cream fabric. 

“What are you still doing here, huh?” 

He blows out a tired breath, brushing his hands over his face. “Studying,” he replies as though that’s not obvious. He looks around for Charles, but he’s nowhere to be found. 

“I sent Charles home five minutes ago,” Daniel says then, pulling his attention back to him. “I said I’d close up, there wasn’t much left to clean up anyway.” 

“Why are _you_ here?” Max narrows his eyes. “You worked all day already.” 

Daniel shrugs. “I live nearby, might as well. Besides, Charles didn’t have a key, so I had to stop by either way.” 

“Isn’t Christian the only one with a key, then?” Max asks, one eye gazing towards his laptop. 

Daniel lets out a laugh. “Christian isn’t the only owner of this coffeeshop, is he?” 

That takes Max by surprise, and he turns away from his laptop again. “Wait, what?” 

“You’re incredibly dim for someone as smart as you sometimes,” Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “I’m co-owner of Blue Coast, remember?” 

“What!” Max calls out, letting his palms drop flat on the table and sitting back on the bench. “You’ve never told me that before!” 

“I think I did,” Daniel corrects him. “About a dozen times, actually. As I said, incredibly dim.” 

Max stares at him, dumbfounded. It does make sense that Daniel is always around now, and that it seems like making coffee is a skill incorporated in his blood. “What—what? How is that possible? I thought Christian ran things around here.” 

“Oh, he does,” Daniel remarks. “He does the boring stuff, bookkeeping and funding and that shit. I get to do the actual fun part of the job.” 

“Alright… fair. I think.” 

Daniel grins. “Okay, pretty boy. How long are you gonna need to wrap things up? Because I may like spending time with you but I am looking forward to going home as well.” 

“Uh,” Max stutters, taking a beat, not because he’s calculating how long he’ll need to finish the paper but because he’s stuck on the last part of Daniel’s sentence. “Thirty minutes? But it’s fine, I’ll finish it at home—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Daniel says, getting to his feet and rapping his knuckles on the table. “You can finish it here. I’ll just clean up the last things in the kitchen and then we can go.” 

It turns out it’s really hard to focus when Daniel is humming to himself behind the counter. 

He makes the most of his paper, though, knows the majority of it is utter bullshit but he can’t really find himself to care, not about this specific grade. He’s just rereading his work when Daniel sits back down on the chair and, of all things, starts peeling the oranges he just retrieved from the kitchen. 

Max eyes him wearily. 

Daniel catches him staring, raises his eyebrows and extends a slice to him. Max huffs out a laugh in contempt, but when Daniel just sticks out his hand a little further, he takes it. 

He’s not sure what it is but there’s something about the intimacy of Daniel peeling oranges for him and handing him the pieces that has his heart in his throat. 

“You’re insufferable,” Max mumbles at some point. 

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Irresistible is the word you’re looking for, I reckon.” Simple words but Max is taken back to the afternoon where he met Dilara in the coffeeshop, having the honor of Daniel as his boyfriend for mere minutes. 

Max submits his essay three minutes past ten, stretching his arms above his head. If he feels like he’s floating, it has nothing to do with college. 

Daniel walks him to the subway station, squeezing his shoulder and smiling before strolling backwards, waving with one hand in the air. “Sweet dreams! See you tomorrow,” he calls through the cold night air. “Don’t be late to work!” 

“I’d never!” Max yells back, forcing himself to hop down the stairs instead of staying to watch until Daniel is out of view. 

The subway ride is short and quiet except for the drunk man yelling at a cockroach on the other end of the car and Max shakes his head, glancing at his phone but shutting it off again at the new messages he’s received. 

“You’re late,” is the first thing Lando says when he gets home, “if you think staying out past ten will stop me from getting your laptop— _you’re blushing!”_ He yells, pushing himself off the couch and staring at Max like it’s the first time he’s ever seen him. “Why are you blushing?” 

“I’m not blushing,” Max scoffs, pushing past Lando towards the kitchen, shrugging off his backpack and dropping it on the ground. 

“Who’s blushing and for what?” George asks as he walks out of his bedroom. 

“Max is blushing,” Pierre answers from the dining table without looking up. “Secret admirer, maybe?” 

“Shut up,” Max grumbles, batting away Lando’s hand. “It’s just cold outside.” 

George leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Cold, huh? Nothing like a little love to warm you up, isn’t it.” 

Max abandons his plans to grab some cereal and makes a b-line for his room. “I hate all of you.” 

Even after he closes his door behind him, he can hear his roommates talk about him. “He loves all of us,” Lando says. “Don’t let his words fool you.” 

“Yeah. And he definitely has a secret admirer.” 

He swears to God that he’s going to move out. 

⁂

Max isn’t late to work the next day, but he really should’ve put in more work for his essay. The grade he got lowered his GPA and with the other class he’s failing, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to maintain his scholarship. And without his scholarship, he can’t afford to both study and live in New York. 

Daniel notices that he’s grumpy all morning and thankfully doesn’t push on after Max says he doesn’t want to talk about it. Instead, he makes him a pomegranate lemonade and babbles on about how both pomegranates and lemons are specific symbols and have significant meanings in religion. When Max asks what, exactly, they symbolize, Daniel dodges the question and doesn’t give him an outright answer. Max is too unbothered to go on about it. 

He leaves for class before noon and when he gets back, he’s a little disappointed to find that Daniel has gone home already, but it gives him the opportunity to actually get work done rather than getting distracted and spending half the time sneaking glances at his favorite coworker. 

That being said, Nico isn’t half bad either, providing him with an ongoing string of snacks and drinks. 

“Do you want me to get fat? Is that it?” Max asks, only a little exasperated when Nico trots to his table with yet another plate. 

Nico shrugs, putting down a toasty. “Someone has to try out our new concoctions.” He already moves to leave again but stops in his tracks. “This is a three-cheese and balsamic shallot toasty, or whatever. Daniel came up with it, so if it’s disgusting, it’s his ass you’re gonna have to kick.” 

It ends up being really good and Max has to tuck his phone away to refrain himself from sending Daniel an excited text about it. 

He spends most of his time studying at the cafe these days, soothed by the sounds of the espresso machine whirring and customers chatting softly, but back at the apartment it’s not too bad either, with all of his roommates being too busy with their own finals to stop Max from pulling all-nighters. 

Actually, Lando comes into his room one night without knocking and dramatically drapes himself over Max’s bed. “I don’t know how you do it, mate.” 

“Do what?” Max asks, not looking up from his desk. 

“Staying up all night to study! It’s not even twelve yet and I already have the urge to fling myself out the nearest window.” Lando sighs, eyes straying to the window, as if in temptation. Max turns in his chair, draping his arm over the backrest. “How do you expect me to study when my bed is _right behind me?”_

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Coffee.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me. I’m not sure what George does to that poor machine but the coffee tastes more disgusting every time he uses it.” 

“That’s because _that_ isn’t proper coffee,” Max amends. “I usually get coffee from work, but we’re closed already. Then I usually switch to energy drinks.” 

Lando makes a disgusted face. “You’re going to die before you’re fifty if you keep it up like this, mate.” 

“Thanks,” Max responds dryly, “I try.” 

With a sigh, Lando rolls off Max’s bed and gets to his feet. “Fine, I guess I’ll go drown in my own sorrow. I’ll leave you to it—” 

“Wait,” Max calls, making Lando turn in the doorway. “We can study in the living room. Together. Then you won’t be tempted to go lie in bed, and you won’t be alone, either.” Lando hasn’t mentioned it but Max thinks the reason that Lando never studies in the living room is simply because he can’t stand the silence, and when he’s in his own room, that silence is more muted. Maybe that’s the reason he doesn’t, either. 

Lando throws him a careful smile, quiet gratitude in his eyes. 

George and Pierre have already retreated to their rooms when Max and Lando settle at the dining table, notebooks and laptops squeaking as they’re pushed over the wooden surface. Max chews on the back of his pen and tries to focus, but with Lando sighing and clearing his throat and speaking up every three fucking seconds, it’s a tough job. 

“Hey, have you heard about—” 

“Mate, are you ever going to shut up and study or are you going to keep talking all night?” Max groans, pushing his hands in his hair. 

Lando clamps his mouth shut, eyes twinkling with kept-in laughter. It’s a useless case as Max meets his gaze, and their shrill laughter echoes through the empty living room. 

It might not be the most productive few hours, but Max feels more at ease than before. It’s four in the morning when they decide that enough is enough, and right before Max steps into his bedroom, he turns to Lando and says, “Hey, Lando? Next time, we can grab coffee first. Or we can study there. Whatever you want.” He’s suddenly a bit anxious, remembering that he’s never actually taken any of his roommates to Blue Coast before. None of them know about Daniel, or have ever even met him. 

Lando presses the tongue to the inside of his cheek and flashes him a tilted grin. “I’d like that a lot.” 

⁂

Exactly one week before finals start, Max is at the cafe again, holed up in the corner by himself, unspilled angry tears blurring his vision. The email from his professor is opened before him, read and read again, realization and cold panic slowly seeping in. 

He’s going to fail his thermodynamics final, and then he’s going to lose his scholarships, and then he’s not going to be able to afford to live here, and then he’ll have to move back home—he _can’t_ move back home—

The bell jangles and Max’s head snaps up to catch two customers leaving. He watches them walk past the window arm in arm until they’re out of view and forces himself to breathe, to calm down. Panicking isn’t going to help him, it’ll just result in panic attacks and nightmares. 

His phone buzzes next to his laptop. Another message from his sister, the list is slowly growing endless. She’s called him a few times earlier this week, but he can’t bring himself to call back, nor does he really have the time. With a sigh, he flips his phone upside down and slides it behind his laptop, out of view. 

He focuses back on the screen, pulling up his notes. It’d be a lie to say that he even understands half of them, and he’s grown tired of emailing his professor every time he doesn’t get something. 

Desperation makes his vision cloudy. 

The chair in front of him gets pulled out by long, slender fingers before Daniel sits down in front of him. “I really ought to ban you from studying here till ungodly hours, mate.”

“Back again?” Max says, looking up. “Couldn’t stay away from me, is it?” He attempts to make a joke, but it comes out forced, brittle, just a tad too tight.

“Obviously. I never can, can I?” Daniel tilts his head, brows slowly knotting together. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, trying not to think about the email from his professor and the upcoming finals and the class he’s failing. 

“Alright,” Daniel says slowly, “If you say so. D’you want a drink? I can make you whatever, or, well, I can force Nico to make you whatever.” 

“Hey, asshole!” Nico yells from behind the counter, “I just cleaned this entire fucking thing! You can do it yourself.” 

How late does he have classes tomorrow? Maybe he’ll have time beforehand to study. “Uhm, sure,” Max mumbles, grabbing his phone from the table, fingers moving to open his schedule but eyes snagging on the message from his sister. “Can you—” He stops talking. 

“Max?” 

She’s pregnant.

His sister is pregnant. The world spins around him. He should’ve called her—

“Hey, Nico?” Daniel starts, eyes locked on Max’s face. “You can go home if you want. I’ll close up, it’s fine. I think Max and I need a moment.” 

Max doesn’t realize how tight his chest feels until the lining of the couch dips and Daniel sits down next to him, curling a hand around his shoulder. Faintly, he hears a bell jangling and a door closing, but it’s distanced. Even Daniel, who sits so close to him that he can feel the press of his thigh against his own, seems far away. 

“I think you should take a deep breath,” Daniel says gently, patiently. “Just one deep breath. That’s all.” 

Max shakes his head. He can’t. His fingers tighten into fists, nails pressing sharply into his palm. God, this can’t be happening, not here, not now, not with _Daniel_ of all people—

“Alright, we’re just going to sit here for a minute, okay? You don’t have to speak.” Daniel glances down, carefully taking Max’s clenched hand and unfurling it gently. Then he intertwines their fingers and lets their joined hands rest in his lap. Max watches it happen, gaze flicking between their hands and Daniel’s face feverishly, feeling a strange sense of calm coming over him when Daniel lets his head flop against the backrest and stares in front of him instead of looking at Max.

His heart still pounds in his chest, but that might be for another reason entirely. 

It’s quiet. Max focuses on the buzzing of the refrigerator underneath the counter and the occasional car passing by. His skin tingles when Dan envelopes Max’s hand with both of his and draws nonsensical figures on the back of it.

“I’ll ask again,” Daniel speaks up after a few long moments, not unkindly, “Are you okay?” 

_Yes, of course, this just happens sometimes. I don’t know why I get like that. Sorry for ruining your night, I’ll leave you to it._ But after all those impulsive thoughts, underneath those tendencies to push away everyone who shows the slightest bit of affection; _no. I’m not okay_. 

“I’m failing one of my classes,” Max croaks out at last. Daniel gives their joined hands an encouraging squeeze, or maybe it’s pity, he doesn’t know. He opens his mouth to continue, but finally saying those words out loud and hearing them echo in the empty coffeeshop makes them sink right into his heart, the weight of it settling in like a bucket of ice water being poured over his head. He’s scared that if he starts talking he won’t know where to stop. He’s on the brink of tears already, and he’d rather die than have Daniel add _saw Max crying_ to the list of embarrassing things he’s done in his presence. 

“Alright,” Daniel says softly, “I think we’re gonna go for a walk.” 

Max would protest but he’s too tired for it and Daniel’s tone sounds like it leaves no room for objection, so he untangles their fingers—the sudden cold on his palms is unpleasant, to say the least—and Daniel helps him stuff his books into his backpack. 

Daniel opens the door for him and, at Max’s questioning glance, shrugs, “I’ll clean up the rest tomorrow. Got more urgent things to care about right now.” 

It’s a Tuesday night in April but it’s still cold outside, Max’s breath faintly clouding in front of him, and he listens to the distant city sounds and keys jingling as Daniel locks the front door. 

After he’s pocketed his keys, Daniel steps back and squints an eye at Max. “Can I show you something?” 

It’s not like he’d planned on rejecting whatever stupid plan Dan would propose anyway, to leave him in the cold and go home. He owes him a little more than that, so Max nods. 

Daniel grabs Max’s hand again and pulls him down the street, towards the nearest subway station. The shiver that runs down his spine has nothing to with the cold, for once. 

He tries to pay attention to where they’re heading but after Daniel ushers him onto three different subways, even his usually strong sense of direction abandons him completely. It’s ten minutes past eleven when they enter a huge apartment building, too fancy-looking for how they’re dressed—for them in general, really—but Daniel greets the security guard sitting behind the front desk like they’re lifelong friends before taking Max along to the elevator. 

“What are we doing here?” Max whispers when the doors close with a ding. 

Daniel fails to keep the smug smile off his face and drums his fingers on his thigh, eyes glued to the number above them that keeps going up. “You’ll see.” 

It’s a rooftop, tucked in between two higher buildings. It’s got a couch and blankets and string lights spanned from one side to the other. When Max turns around, he’s met with the sight of Brooklyn Bridge, lit up completely. Manhattan is on the other side of the water, nothing more than a haze of lights bobbing in the distance. 

“I’ve never taken anyone to this place before,” Daniel says, walking over to the ledge and resting his arms on the railing. “Mitch lets me on here whenever I want to. That is to say, whenever I need to be alone, or away from everything.” 

And somehow, Daniel had known that was exactly what Max needed. 

“You don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to,” he continues. “But I’m willing to listen. You should know that.” 

Max moves up to stand beside him, arms not quite touching. He lets out a sigh, lungs full of fresh air. 

“I’m failing a class. That means I might lose my scholarship,” Max confesses quietly, not daring to meet Dan’s gaze. “I can’t afford to both pay tuition and rent. I’d have to move back home, and I—I can’t.” When Daniel remains silent, encouraging him to go on, he breathes, “I just found out my sister’s pregnant. Through a text message.” He laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “I’m going to be an uncle and I don’t even have the guts to call her back.” 

It’s quiet, save for the cars rushing past down the street and the wind whistling softly as it blows past. “Did you know that I graduated with a GPA of 2.1?” Daniel says after a moment of contemplation, throwing Max a glance. “I wasn’t that smart, nor really excited to be in college. I failed so many tests despite studying so hard. It was like a blow to the gut each time.” He takes a beat. “But you know what? I graduated. I still got my degree, even with a GPA that would make my mother weep if she knew the specifics.” 

Max lets out a laugh, some tension in his shoulders released as he lets his head droop between his arms. His attention snaps back to Daniel. 

“You major in mechanical engineering, right?” Daniel asks, taking him by surprise. He doesn’t remember telling him about it. But then again, he's known Daniel for over two years. “Alex does something with engineering as well. I don’t know the details, but if there’s any subjects he could help you with, he undoubtedly would. And your professor, no matter how much of an asshole he might be, is your professor with a reason. He’s there to help you. They’re not getting paid to ensure that a certain Max Verstappen fails his classes and loses his scholarship.” 

He snorts. “Are you sure about that?” 

Daniel shoves at his shoulder. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re not defined by academic expectations.” He turns fully to face Max now. “Knowing you, you’re probably worrying too much, but even if you did lose your scholarship, don’t you think we wouldn’t try and find a way to help you out? No way that I’m losing my favorite employee.” 

Max is surprised to find his eyes stinging. “I can’t even make a basic macchiato,” he gets out, voice wavering. 

Daniel laughs. “Guess we’ll have to work on that, won’t we? But let’s just take it one day at the time. Finals first, then proper coffee.” 

He’s quiet and turns back to face the view in front of him. He’s never been one to ask for help, but when Daniel puts it like this, it doesn’t sound that bad to reach out and admit that even he can’t do everything on his own. 

They take the subway back to Max’s student flat and Daniel walks up with him to his front door. Before he can second-guess himself, he pulls him into an embrace. “Thank you,” he whispers, breathless when Daniel hugs back even tighter. 

“Always, mate,” he replies, stepping back and saluting, that radiant grin back on his face despite the exhaustion. It’s one in the morning, but Max feels more energetic than ever, feeling—for once—hopeful. “Hey, Max?” 

“Hm?” He asks, stopping in the doorway. 

“Maybe you should start with congratulating your sister,” Dan says, walking backwards through the corridor. 

Max watches until he's out of view, then closes the door behind him and lets his back rest against it, pulling his phone out of his pocket and glancing at the unopened messages, thumb hovering above the screen before he opens the chat with his sister. 

One day at the time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pomegranates symbolize life and happiness.   
> lemons are considered a symbol of longevity, purification, love and friendship. 
> 
> leave a comment <3


	3. Chapter 3

Alex slams down a book the size of a bible on the table before taking a seat next to Max, stretching his long legs beneath the surface. “You ready for this?” He asks, opening the book and thumbing through the pages. 

“No,” Max groans. 

Alex grins. “Oh, come on, it’ll be fine.” 

He’s not so sure about that, but Alex didn’t hesitate when Max told him about his problem. Apparently Alex passed his thermodynamics class with an A, so if there’s one person that should be able to help Max out, it’s him. 

“Okay, second law of thermodynamics. Let’s start with the Kelvin-Planck and Clausius statements and their equivalence.” 

Just hearing Alex talk about it makes him want to tear out his hair, or hit someone with a chair, preferably both, but Alex is patient and he talks softly and clearly as he outlines a few things on paper. Daniel brings them coffee and peers over Max’s shoulder, wincing at Alex’s notes and giving Max a reassuring squeeze before going back to the counter to help some new customers. 

Max doesn’t even realize it but Daniel has seemingly been pulling his attention this entire time, bringing drinks and asking what they want for lunch and handing over cake pops, and at one point Alex sighs and, without looking up, calls out, “Daniel Ricciardo, stop bothering this poor man and let us study, for fuck’s sake.” 

Daniel, who was just sauntering towards their table, stops in his tracks and raises his hands in defense. “I didn’t know you’d get upset, Your Majesty. My sincerest apologies. I guess I’ll let you starve, then.” 

Alex rolls his eyes but he’s not actually angry. “With the mountain of food you’ve brought us already, I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Disrespected,” Daniel scoffs, “in my own cafe.” 

Flipping the page, Alex shakes his head. “That man is a lost cause. He’s hopeless.” 

“What do you mean?” Max asks, shifting in his seat as he bows his head over the textbook. He can feel Alex’s eyes scanning his face. 

When he finally looks up, Alex’s gaze is almost surprised. “It’s just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so protective. About anyone.” 

Unsure of what to say to that—unsure of what that even means—Max shrugs, hoping his cheeks haven’t gone flaming red. “He probably just means well.” 

Alex huffs out a breath. “Of course he means well, but I’ve spent too many hours studying here and don’t think this man once asked me what I wanted for lunch. If I wasn’t friends with both of you, I’d say that you’re just as hopeless as him.” Before Max can reply to that, Alex slams his hand flat on the book. “Okay, let’s keep going. What can you tell me about the principle of increase of entropy?”

⁂

By the end of the third week of May, Max has survived his finals, called back his sister and officially made it to his senior year of college. 

He stands in the middle of the coffeeshop, almost buzzing with excitement. Daniel looks up from the latte he’s making, mouth opening to supply the classic _welcome to Blue Coast_ , but instead a grin splits on his face and he calls out, “Maxy!” 

“I got a 79,” he says.

Daniel stares at him, openmouthed, before he slams down the milk pitcher, hops over the counter like it’s a daily exercise and pulls Max into a bone-crushing hug. “That’s amazing! Does this mean you get to keep your scholarship?” 

He can’t breathe in deeply enough to get out an answer, so he nods. 

“I knew you could do it!” Dan grins, letting him go and grabbing him by the shoulders. “I’m so proud of you, mate, you don’t even know.” 

No tears, just his heart feeling like it could burst at the seams. “Thank you,” Max whispers. Daniel has already done more for him than the man himself realizes. 

“Come on, I’ll make you a drink. I need you to try out this new frappuccino I’ve been working on.” 

He lets Daniel drag him to the bar, plants his butt on a stool and watches fervently as Dan’s fingers nimbly scribble something on the cup. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he manages to tear his gaze away from Daniel’s hands long enough to send a reply back to Lando. 

“So… onto senior year, then.” Daniel puts down the frappuccino and spreads his hands on the counter, gaze following as Max brings the straw to his lips. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s crazy. What’s in this?” 

“I don’t think you even want to know,” Daniel winces, then shrugs. “Secret recipe?” 

Max rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever. Anyway, one more year. Can’t believe it, to be honest. But summer break first.” 

“Any plans for summer break yet?” Daniel asks nonchalantly, his fingers drumming on the surface. He brushes some crumbs off, not meeting Max’s gaze. Something in his chest warms at the question. 

Suddenly there are two arms thrown over his neck, almost pulling him into a chokehold. “Jesus Christ,” Max coughs, half turning to find his roommate slung over his shoulders. 

“No, just me,” Lando replies, loosening his grip on Max. 

“Asshole.” 

“Dipshit.” 

Max clears his throat, suddenly remembering that they’re not alone. “Right, Daniel, this is Lando, my roommate. Lando, this is Daniel, my—favorite coworker.” 

Daniel raises a brow. “Oh, favorite coworker? Word.” He claps hands with Lando. “Not professional study counselor? Knight in shining armor? Best fake boyfriend you ever had?” 

His cheeks flare up. “Hm, no. I think I’ll stick to favorite coworker for now.” 

“Fake boyfriend?” Lando whispers, taking Max’s iced drink from between his fingers and taking a sip. 

“It’s a long story,” Max waves it off. 

“Sure it is,” Daniel smirks. “It’s nice to meet you, Lando. D’you want anything to drink?” 

“Whatever this is, please,” Lando holds up the cup. “It’s really good.” 

Max nudges Lando with his elbow, almost making him spill the frappuccino. “Are Pierre and George coming?” 

Lando wipes the offended look off his face. “Yeah, they’ll be here in a bit. I’ll tell their asses to hurry the hell up.” He whips out his phone. 

Max rests his chin on his hand as he watches Daniel work. “Anyway, summer break was actually something I wanted to talk about. I was wondering if I could get some more hours,” he says. 

Daniel looks over his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere?” 

“Wasn’t really planning on it.” 

“Yes, of course. I’ll have a look at it, pretty sure we’re going to need you.” 

“Don’t you always?” Max grins. 

He’s not fully prepared, though, when Daniel replies, completely serious, “Yeah, I do.” 

Lando is still on his phone beside him, but Max just knows that he’s not missed a second of this interaction. Strangely enough, he doesn’t really care. 

Daniel is just a coworker, after all. He’s just a friend. 

When Pierre and George come in a little while later, cheering as they see Max, they move to a table farther back. Max introduces them to Daniel, mirroring Dan’s smile when he looks up at him, leaning into his faint touch as Dan squeezes his shoulder. 

They talk about finals and senior year and summer break. Pierre is going back to France for two months. Lando and George are on the same flight back to the UK, but George is staying longer than Lando. 

“You’re not going home?” Pierre asks, brows furrowing. 

“Won’t you get insanely bored without us?” Lando goes on dramatically.

Max glances to Daniel, who’s already watching him from behind the counter, and flashes him a careful smile before turning back to his roommates. “I think I’ll manage.” 

⁂

June is hot, slow, and most of all, busy. Daniel teaches him the fine art of making coffee and cheers every time he succeeds at making something relatively artsy in the milk foam. 

On the rare occasion that it’s not busy, Max lets Daniel make the drinks and doodles on the paper cups with sharpie himself. Lando is the real artist but with him not around, Max thinks of different drawings for everyone; a cat for Alex because he never shuts up about his pets, a backpack for Charles because he always leaves it lying around in the most inconvenient places, a donut for Nico because he once managed to sit down on one, and Daniel… Daniel gets a new doodle every time. Sometimes it’s Brooklyn Bridge, then it’s an orange, then it’s a trophy (“Best Fake Boyfriend of the Year, you see,” Max explains. Daniel says nothing, but his grin doesn’t fade for the rest of the day). 

Daniel leaves for LA a few days before June ends. He has friends there who he’s going to stay with for a little while, and to say that Max feels a twinge of disappointment of two Daniel-less weeks is an understatement. 

“You reckon Blue Coast can survive without me for two weeks?” Daniel asks, backpack slung over his shoulder, suitcase next to him. He’d promise to stop by before he went to the airport, and so here he is. 

_Yeah, but can I?_ Max wants to say, but instead he shrugs. “Of course. And if anything happens, it’s Nico’s fault.” 

Daniel grins and pulls him into a hug. “You’re finally starting to get the hang of it.” 

“Have fun,” Max says, tightening his arms around his shoulders. “But don’t have too much fun without me.” 

“I could never,” Daniel says solemnly, stepping back and putting a hand over his heart. “I should go, can’t miss my flight. Good luck! Don’t forget to enjoy yourself every now and then.” It’s only a joke but in Daniel’s eyes is a hint of sincerity. 

Max waves until Daniel has left the cafe and pretends that the silence doesn’t sting a little. 

⁂

It’s three in the morning, but Max is sitting in the living room, feet kicked up on the couch, tv on with the volume turned almost all the way down. The window is opened, letting in the faint city sounds, cars honking in the distance, groups of people swarming past as they get back from or go on their way to parties. It’s still warm outside, soft breeze billowing the curtains and making his shirt flutter up. His phone is clenched in his hand, doubt beginning to creep in the longer he listens to the dial tone. Then—

“Hello?” 

Max smiles at the sound of Daniel’s voice. “Happy birthday, mate.” 

It’s quiet, save for music in the background, and then Daniel lets out a loud laugh. “Thank you! What the hell, Max, isn’t it like four in the morning in New York?” 

“Three, actually.” 

He hears Daniel walk away, a door closing behind him, muffling the background noise. “Shit, you stayed up just to call me?” 

“Seems like it,” he replies, heat blooming on his cheeks. He’s glad that he has the apartment to himself. “It’s my favorite coworker’s birthday, can’t just let that slide.” 

“Oh? I thought I was the best fake boyfriend of the year.” 

“No, you’re my knight in shining armor, remember?” He meant it as a joke, but there’s a silence after, and his words sound much more sincere than they should have. He clears his throat. “Any birthday plans? How is LA?” 

“It’s been great. It’s just as hot here, but the weather is still different. I’ve spent basically every day at the beach so far, been surfing a lot,” Daniel says, smile evident in his voice. 

Max bites on his lower lip and tries not to picture Daniel in swim trunks, skin tanned and hair wet with salt water and sand. Tries not to envision the tattoos Max knows are on his thighs, but of which he’s only ever seen half. “You any good at surfing?” 

“The best, baby. You know it.” 

He snorts. “If I ask your friends, will they give me the same answer?” 

Daniel hums. “Well… there’s a reason you’re not asking them.” Daniel laughs, and even through the phone line, it still manages to take Max’s breath away. “No, we’re at a party right now, did the whole countdown and shit, but to be honest, being a year older doesn’t feel all that otherworldly.” 

“It never does, does it? You just have some cake and drink some beer and that’s it.” 

“And you get a call from your favorite person,” Daniel adds. Max bites on his tongue. _Don’t you mean coworker?_ “My friends are taking me out to dinner later today. After I sleep for like ten hours,” he laughs. 

“I wish I could be there.” Max doesn’t realize what he’s said until the words are out. Daniel stops laughing. 

For a moment, he thinks that he’s screwed it up and he’s already planning on how to quit his job and flee the country, but Daniel says, “I wish you could be here too.” 

His heart is beating tattoos on his ribcage. He’s glad Dan’s not able to hear it. “I did get you a gift, actually,” Max starts. “I’ll give it when you get back.” 

“What? Mate, you shouldn’t have,” Daniel says. “When I’m back in New York I’ll take you out for cake. Or pie. Not sure what you prefer. But then we can still celebrate together.” 

“Alex’s cake isn’t good enough?” Max remarks jokingly. It’s a miracle that his voice doesn’t falter. 

Daniel snorts. “Not for my birthday celebration. But don’t tell him that.” 

Max draws his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, gaze drifting over the ceiling to the windows, city lights a gentle glow in the distance. “I won’t,” he promises. 

There’s a sharp breath on the other side of the phone, almost like Daniel is hesitating. Then— “I miss you.” 

“It’s only been a week,” Max says, more of an automatic reaction than what he genuinely wants to say. 

“And another week to go,” Dan groans, feigning exasperation. 

Max laughs, burying his face in the couch cushion. “Yeah, because things are so extremely bad for you right now. Oh, I’m at the beach all day, boohoo.” 

“It is, actually. It’s tragic that you don’t get to see me in all my glory on that surfboard.” 

Involuntarily, Max thinks of Daniel again, what he’d look like on the beach, skin gleaming with sweat, hair curled with dried-up salt water. “I’m missing out on your surfing skills?” 

“Something like that,” Daniel grins. 

“Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to see that with my own eyes one day,” Max says. In the background, he hears a door bursting open, voices growing louder. “I’ll leave you to the celebrating, mate. Have a drink on me, okay?” 

“I will,” Daniel replies softly. “Thanks for calling. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course.” Max scratches at his brow, wondering how to express his emotions without sounding like a big softie. How to express his emotions in general, really. “Only seven more days. I think I can survive that.” 

“Can _I?”_ Daniel asks, now almost unintelligible over the people around him, presumably his friends who’ve come to drag him along to the party. “If you missed me, you could’ve just said so, you know.” 

His cheeks burn. “Now where’s the fun in that?” 

Daniel lets out a laugh. “Good night, Maxy. Sleep well.” 

The quiet is somehow both welcoming and heart-wrenching. 

⁂

“No, you need more flour,” Alex points out, reaching in front of Max to grab the bag. 

“This is a disaster,” Max complains, up to his wrists in dough. He’s pretty sure there’s flour every-fucking-where. It wouldn’t surprise him if he somehow managed to get it in his pants. 

“No, it’s not,” Alex reprimands him, smacking the back of his head. Then he sprinkles more flour over the kitchen counter. 

“I told you I’m the worst cook on earth.” 

“And I told you that you just need some confidence. I’ve been baking for most of my life, you think my cookies tasted good when I was nine?” Alex says, folding his arms over his chest. 

Max rolls his eyes. “Okay, no, but—” 

“No buts. Better keep going because that dough isn’t going to knead itself,” he cuts in, turning to rest against the sink and picking up the cookbook to scan the recipe again. 

To be honest, Max isn’t sure why he asked Alex to teach him how to bake, but he figured that he might as well take up a new hobby since he hasn’t done shit so far during summer break. Developing a new skill seemed reasonable—at that time. 

Yesterday they made chocolate chip cookies. They didn’t turn out that pretty but they tasted good. Today, they’re attempting to make bread, but Max has already thrown in too much yeast and Alex has been shaking his head the majority of the time. 

Alex is good company, at least. The guy is really funny when he wants to be, and beneath his soft demeanor is a fiery side as well. 

“Now you put it in here,” Alex says, sliding a bowl over the counter, “and it needs to rest for an hour so it can rise.” 

“What’s going on here?” 

Max’s head snaps up at the familiar voice. Daniel is watching curiously, faint smile playing around his mouth, arms folded over the frame of the serving hatch. The epitome of casualness. 

“Daniel!” Max calls out. Alex sighs before hip-checking him and pushing him towards the doorway. 

He forgets that he’s covered in flour—or rather, he doesn’t care—as he throws his arms around Daniel and pulls him into a hug. Daniel laughs, the sound rumbling through Max’s chest. 

“Glad to see at least _someone’s_ happy to see me,” Daniel says, glaring at Alex. 

Alex raises a brow. “Hm, no. I was rather fond of the peace and quiet that arrived when you stepped out the door.” 

“He’s just scared to admit that he missed me,” Daniel says to Max, who’s stepped back but Daniel’s arm wraps around his shoulder, stopping him from going completely out of reach. “Reminds me of a certain someone, actually.” 

Max rolls his eyes and shoves at Daniel’s shoulder. “Insufferable.” 

He grins. “Irresistible.” 

“Disgusting,” Alex groans. “We were trying to make bread, for the record.”

“Really?” Dan’s gaze snaps to Max, eyebrows raised in surprise. Then he looks back at Alex. “This guy is giving us a run for our money. Soon enough he’ll replace us both.” 

Alex snorts. “I’d like to see him try.” 

“Hey!” 

“Sorry, sorry, I was only joking, whatever.” 

Max turns to Daniel. “I thought you were supposed to come in later today?” 

“Yeah, so did I,” he replies. “Guess I just got lucky. We left a few minutes earlier, and I only had to wait for like two minutes before I got my luggage.” 

Alex gives Max a pointed look, then waves them out of the kitchen. “Go! I’ll clean up here, there’s nothing you can do right now anyway.” 

This time, it’s Daniel who takes a seat at the bar and Max who makes the coffee. He listens to Dan as he tells about LA, making a vanilla cold brew and grabbing a sharpie from the cup next to the register. When he slides it towards Daniel, he falters midway through his story as his eyes snag on the doodle. 

It’s a surfboard. 

“One day,” Max smiles. 

Daniel meets his gaze, grin cracking on his face. “That’s a deal, mate.” 

⁂

He doesn’t outright tell Daniel but he thinks that he knows that he’s missed him. Especially at work, the atmosphere is just different when Daniel is there, loudly singing along to stupid songs on the radio and whistling off-key tunes as he makes frappuccinos like his life depends on it. 

A heatwave rolls through the crowded streets of New York. People line up in the shade for an iced coffee or a smoothie, the queue sometimes so long that Max breaks out in a sweat for reasons completely different than the heat. 

It’s on a specific Wednesday that they’re understaffed, having heavily underestimated the amount of customers they would get. Charles was supposed to be in half an hour ago but he still hasn’t shown up, and Nico had an emergency at home so they let him leave.

That means it’s just Daniel, Max and Alex against an ocean of overheated people craving iced drinks. They’ve abandoned the aprons hours ago already, now all in black t-shirts and shorts (“We still have to appear at least a _little_ professional, ladies,”) but it’s still ridiculously hot behind the counter, especially when the concept of personal space has ceased to exist entirely. Alex is taking orders at the registers, leaving Max and Daniel to get out the drinks as fast as possible. 

“Did you have that iced cappuccino ready?” Max asks, scrambling around for a plastic lid to click on the cup. He looks up when Daniel doesn’t reply. 

“What? Oh, no—shit, not yet—” 

“It’s fine,” Max reassures him, lifting the milk carton to find it empty. He crouches in front of the refrigerator. “Shit, I think we’re out of milk.” 

“Check in the back,” Daniel calls over his shoulder, immediately turning back to shout a few names into the cafe. 

Max jumps to his feet. “Okay, I’ll get it.” 

It’s calm in the kitchen, a rush of cold wind gushing to meet his heated cheeks. He takes a deep breath, pulling open the back-up refrigerator. It’s simply chaos in front. 

When Max returns a minute later, his arms are full of milk cartons and Daniel heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank god.” 

He quickly stacks everything in the cooler before getting to work on that damned iced cappuccino. 

“Can you pass me the soy milk, please?” Daniel asks. Max’s fingers brush past his as he hands over the carton. “Alright, ice, didn’t we have more ice? Where’s the ice? _And where the hell is Charles?”_

“There’s more ice in the freezer,” Max says, jerking his chin to his left. “Bottom shelf.” 

“Thanks,” Daniel smiles. There’s limited space behind the counter and he knows that, but Max still freezes when Dan puts a hand on his waist to get past him. It’s accidental but Daniel brushes past his butt, and then, to Max’s absolute horror, he feels a wave of heat rushing to his core. Max almost chokes on his own spit, cheeks turning bright red. 

Alex half-turns. “His girlfriend just texted me. He’ll be here in ten, his phone broke.” 

“Okay, good. Thanks, Alex,” Daniel says, grabbing a bag of ice from the freezer and then repeating the exact same maneuver to get back to his initial spot at the counter. Max suspects the little shit does it on purpose this time because he gets up even more in Max’s space, and if he wasn’t flustered enough a minute ago, he certainly is now.

 _“Godver!”_ Max curses when he accidentally knocks over a drink, cold coffee dripping all over the counter to the floor. Daniel turns to him, surprise lighting up his eyes. “What?” 

“Did you just curse in Dutch?” 

“Sorry,” Max mutters as he picks the rag from the sink to clean up the spill. “It’s a habit.” 

“No, it sounded kinda sexy, to be honest,” Daniel teases. “Do you speak Dutch in the bedroom, then?” 

Max rolls his eyes, hoping the blush isn’t too evident on his face. He was already flustered—it can’t have gotten much worse, right? “Wouldn’t you like to find out yourself?” 

“Oh.” Daniel doesn’t instantly have a comeback, and Max smirks, focusing on making a new iced mocha, but he swears that Dan is blushing. “That’s fast. Won’t you take me out to dinner first?” 

“Maybe I will,” he says airily before brushing past Daniel and handing a customer their drink. 

Daniel, for once, doesn’t have a reply to quip back with. 

Charles comes in exactly ten minutes later, looking a little disheveled. 

“Charles, you cunt!” Daniel booms. Only a handful of customers turn their heads. “You couldn’t have called?” 

_“Je suis désolé,_ Daniel,” he winces, hurling his backpack into a corner before pulling a black t-shirt over his head. “I will call next time.” 

“Okay, you’re forgiven,” Daniel quips, pushing two empty cups into Charles’ hands. “I need two green smoothies, asap.” 

Charles nods, looking a little lost as he mumbles something in French before turning on his heel and disappearing into the kitchen. 

“I’m really working with a bunch of crackheads, aren’t I?” Max mutters, clicking the portafilter loose and emptying it in the trash. 

“Says the guy who’s talking to himself,” Daniel replies, bumping his hip against Max’s. Max recedes a step, giving him space at the espresso machine, arms still pressed together despite his efforts. There’s just limited space. 

He can’t exactly say that he minds that much. 

Daniel’s skin is warm and soft as it brushes past his. With shorts on, it’s been hard to refrain from trying to catch glimpses of his thigh tattoos. 

Max shakes his head, as though to shake the thoughts with it. 

Hours later, when the sun is slowly making its decline toward the horizon and the coffeeshop has finally cleared out, Alex, Charles and Max sit at one of the tables, tired and sweaty. 

“Good work today, ladies,” Daniel says from where he appears in the doorpost, hands on his hips. 

Charles lets out a groan. “How are you so happy still? I don’t think I ever made that many smoothies in my life before.” 

Alex folds his arms on the table and lets his head rest on top of them. “My fingers are still cramped from writing down names. One customer got mad at me for misspelling the name McKayla. She said I was supposed to write it with g-h. Where?” he fumes. “ _Where_ is the g-h?” 

“Don’t forget about the woman who wanted a refund but refused to give her name, because we were ‘supposed to remember it’,” Max snorts. “I didn’t even take her order. How am I supposed to remember her name, then?” 

“Stop being so melodramatic.” Daniel flips the chair and sits on it backwards, slamming down a plate with cake pops. But even Daniel’s usually radiant grin is a bit more dulled. 

He tells them that they can go home after they’ve shoved the cake pops into their mouths, but none of them leave, helping to clean up in soft silence. 

After Daniel has locked the front door, Charles and Alex wave and both take off in different directions. 

“I’ll walk you home?” Daniel asks, rocking on his heels.

Max grins. “Please.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas friends!!! hope you all have a blessed day <3

Max knew the man was going to be trouble the moment he walked in, and so far, he’s only been proving that point. It all started with the fact that he ordered a venti decaf caramel macchiato with raspberry syrup. 

_This isn’t Starbucks,_ Max wants to say, but instead he puts on an apologetic smile and says, “I’m afraid we don’t have raspberry syrup, sir. I can still get you a caramel macchiato, though.” 

“Sure, whatever.” 

Max almost turns away, then turns back and holds up a paper cup. “Oh, this is the largest cup we have. Is that alright?” 

“Fine. Just get me the coffee.” 

Biting on his tongue, Max breathes in deeply and grabs the milk carton from the counter. He can hear Charles singing in the back, pans clattering followed by _“Merde!”_ Max stifles a laugh and peeks through the serving hatch. 

“Everything okay back there?” 

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” Charles mutters, waving him away. Max shakes his head to himself before tapping the cup on the counter twice and clicking a lid onto it. Then he turns back to the customer and hands it over. Only five more minutes, then his shift is over. 

“Here you go—” 

“This isn’t a venti.” 

Max blinks. “Well, sir, this is the largest size we have.” 

“That’s bullshit,” he spits. 

Max’s fingers curl around the edge of the counter, tightening slowly. “If you have any complaints or suggestions, we have comment cards next to the condiment bar—” 

“There’s no raspberry syrup in this!” The man calls out after taking a sip. 

He closes his eyes for a second, breathing in deeply. “As I said—” 

“This isn’t what I ordered. You haven’t been working here very long, have you?” 

A hysterical laugh almost escapes past Max’s lips. No way that this is really happening. “Actually, I’ve been working here for half a year now,” Max replies coolly, trying his hardest not to start screaming. 

“You’re not very good, then. Maybe you should find a new—” 

A hand curls around Max’s shoulder. “What’s going on here? Everything alright?” Daniel gives him a knowing look, brown eyes lit up with both amusement and a hint of recognition. 

“And who are you?” 

Daniel’s hand unconsciously tightens. Max clamps his lips together. “I’m the owner of this coffeeshop, nice to meet you.” 

“Well, you might want to think about getting a new barista,” the customer grumbles, gesturing to Max, who thinks he might punch him in the jaw if he so much as moves right now. Daniel raises his eyebrows. “He completely messed up my order. Useless.” 

Daniel’s hand slips from his shoulder to draw soothing circles on his back. “Sorry about that. Would you like a refund?” 

“Obviously.” 

One glance at Daniel’s face tells Max that he’s not the only one who’s struggling to keep it civilized. The steady warmth of his hand leaves Max’s skin, much to his regret, as Daniel moves to the register. Right before he drops the change in the customer’s hand, he leans in and says, “Just don’t talk to my employees like that in the future, sir, or you won’t have to come back another time.” 

Max sucks in a breath, turning on his heel and meeting Charles’ widened gaze in the kitchen. He presses a fist to his mouth to stop himself from laughing. 

There’s offended muttering behind him, but Daniel walks into the back. “Have a nice day!” he calls over his shoulder, grabbing his jacket from the hook before turning to Max. “You ready to go?” 

He nods, not trusting his voice right now, because next to the humor he feels, a surge of heat has settled into his lower belly. He’ll die before he’ll admit it, but that was _hot_. 

“Nico will be here in twenty minutes,” Daniel says to Charles. “You think you’ll survive without us?” 

“ _Bien sûr_. Now go! Before you waste the rest of your day here.” 

Daniel tugs Max along by his wrist, barely giving him the time to grab his backpack before they’re outside. 

It only takes a ten minute walk before they’re at Central Park. It’s not as busy as Max had expected, especially not for such a nice day. The sun is at its highest point in a cloudless sky and it’s hot outside, though not uncomfortably. 

They find a dry patch of grass in the sun and Max flops down on his back, spreading his arms wide. Daniel remains seated, crossing his legs and unzipping his backpack. 

“So my favorite bakery didn’t have any time slots for us open today, but the weather’s too beautiful to sit inside, anyway,” he tells him as he gets out a carton box, then drops two beers on the grass. “Luckily I know the owners and they gave me this. For my birthday.” 

“I’m starting to think you know at least half New York,” Max says, squinting against the sunlight as he gets up to his elbows. He uncaps the beer bottles with the opener Daniel throws his way, then hands one of them over. “Happy belated birthday to you,” he says with a grin, and clinks his bottle against Daniel’s. 

“Thank you very much.” Daniel tears open the carton box. “I do believe I promised you cake.” 

The birthday cake is a little bashed from the walk to the park, but it still tastes amazing. Dan wasn’t lying when he said _best bakery of New York_ (“Second to Alex’s cake pops, obviously”). 

“Are we even allowed to drink in public?” Max asks, lifting his bottle to read the label. 

“Hm, I don’t really care.” Daniel plunks his fork onto the cardboard plate and lies down on the grass, eyes closed and hands resting atop his stomach. 

Max turns his head to look at him. His hair has grown longer over the summer, curls framing his forehead. Max’s eyes trail the shape of his nose and jaw, to his chin, where they flick over his mouth, all soft curves and faded pink. Briefly, he wonders what it’d be like to kiss them. 

“You’re staring.” 

“’M not staring,” Max reasons, feeling blood rushing to his cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Daniel opens his eyes completely, amusement simmering in the bronze of his irises. He intertwines his fingers behind his head. “Then why are you blushing?” 

He huffs out a breath and lies down next to him. “That’s just the sun.” 

“Sure it is.” Daniel knocks their feet together, but Max closes his eyes and refuses to look at him. 

It’s nice to hang out with Daniel, just like this, outside of work for once. When Daniel had asked him during one of their shifts together, he hadn’t been sure what to think and even this morning, he’d been kind of nervous. 

Was it a date? 

Should he consider it a date?

It’s not, he knows, but against his better judgement, a part of him hopes for the opposite. He’s not sure how long he’s been harboring these irrational feelings for Daniel, but it’s been going on even before he started working at Blue Coast. 

Daniel with his bright grin and stupid jokes and rumbling voice, with his off-key singing and sharp whistling and dimpled cheeks. Alex’s words come back to him in a rush— _he’s a lost cause. Hopeless._ Maybe Alex hadn’t been talking about Daniel, after all. 

Max has thought about kissing him. A lot. 

He’s thought about it while he studied, eyes following Daniel through the coffeeshop as he retrieved dishes from the tables, he’s thought about it while they worked together on the same shift, he’s thought about it during subway rides home, he’s thought about it during endless lectures and classes. 

It’s like Daniel is stuck in his head. 

He knows he shouldn’t— _can’t_ —think about him like that. Because it’ll ruin him, or at the very least their friendship. 

A few days ago Max dreamed about him. It was a simple dream, peaceful instead of the usual nightmares, but after he’d awoken, he'd felt so empty that the feeling wrapped around his lungs and made it hard to breathe. The longing had been so strong that it physically hurt, stinging in his chest. His heart had split right down the middle as he laid in the dark, covers bunched up around his waist, and he wondered how he was ever going to face Daniel without wanting to throw up. 

“When do your classes start?” Daniel asks, breaking through the silence and pulling Max out of his miserable train of thought. 

Friends. If he still gets to be friends with Daniel, he’ll be alright. 

“Wednesday next week,” Max says. “Can’t believe summer break is almost over already.” 

He’s used to not getting what he wants, anyway. 

“It went by so fast. What am I supposed to do without you now? You can’t expect me to just sit through a ten-hour shift without seeing your stupid face at least once,” Daniel complains. 

“Stupid face?” Max scoffs.

“Don’t worry. You have the prettiest stupid face I’ve ever seen.” 

Daniel really isn’t helping his case. Max bites on the inside of his cheek, digging his fingers harder into his skin to stop them from trembling. 

“Hey, if you want, I can give you Nico’s shift on Tuesday. So we have one more shift together before all hell breaks loose again,” Daniel proposes, turning his head to look at Max. 

Max glances at him, kind eyes and tan skin. Maybe he should keep some distance, take a step back before this _thing_ he has for Dan spirals out of control. But he’s always been bad at saying no to Daniel, and his heart tugs at the words. “Sure.” 

“Yeah?” Daniel beams and settles back onto the grass. “Perfect.” 

It’s already five p.m. by the time they decide to call it a day, the sky slowly turning orange behind the skyscrapers and apartment buildings. Daniel extends him a hand to pull him up. 

“Christ,” Daniel curses when Max turns to grab his backpack. “Mate, your shirt.” 

Max fumbles awkwardly to catch a glimpse of the back of his shirt. 

Daniel lets out one loud laugh before groaning. “Are you kidding me? Seriously, who wears a white shirt when they’re gonna lie on grass?” 

He slaps a hand over his face. He might as well throw it in the trash right now, he’s pretty sure that the second-hand washing machine in his shared apartment is too shitty to get out the green stains. 

“Okay, since I feel partially responsible for this—my apartment is closer than your student flat, we can stop by so I can give you a new shirt and you don’t look like a total fool on the subway.” 

“It’s not like I wouldn’t be the only fool on the subway,” Max remarks, but he doesn’t protest like he should when Daniel guides him towards the exit of Central Park. 

Daniel’s apartment is only five minutes away from Blue Coast. It’s nothing big, but for New York standards, it’s not small either. There’s a small kitchen with a bar and two stools, drawings and postcards stuck on the fridge with magnets, an apron with sunflowers on the hook in the corner. There’s a couch and a tv, books and vinyls stacked next to it. An empty coffee mug sits on the side table, the ear chipped. 

Max looks around, taking it all in. Daniel disappears into his bedroom to grab him a shirt and Max catches a glimpse of the bed, covers unmade, a pair of sweats unceremoniously dumped on top. Max has to tear his gaze away before his thoughts start to wander and he’ll dive head-first into another existential crisis. He turns to the refrigerator, fingers brushing over the child-like drawings. The entire apartment feels so lived-in, so homely. It’s ridiculous but he feels a little homesick for a home he’s never had. 

“Those are from my nephew,” Daniel says. Max turns around and catches the shirt with one hand. 

“How old is he?” He asks, yanking the ruined shirt over his head and pulling on the other one. It’s a little big, but it’s soft and it smells like Daniel. His heart skips a beat.

“Four years old now.” Dan comes up to stand beside him. “I haven’t seen him in almost a year, but he still sends me a new drawing every month.” 

Max swallows hard, feeling Daniel’s hand brush past his. “That’s cute.” 

“How’s your sister doing?” 

That question takes him by surprise and he leans back against the kitchen counter, folding his arms to create some space between them. “She’s doing good. I called her last week, she told me the doctor’s happy with how everything’s going. She’s due in December.” 

“That’s going by so fast.” Daniel brushes past him to reach for the kettle, fills it with water and flips it on. “So are you going home, then? In December?” 

He chews on his bottom lip. “Dunno.” 

Daniel rummages through the cabinets and pulls out two mugs. “Why not?” 

With a sigh, Max pushes himself off the counter and saunters to the couch, pulling up his legs. “It’s complicated.” 

He waits for an _oh, really?_ or _explain it, then_ , but Daniel remains quiet as his socked feet pad across the hardwood floor. He hands Max one of the mugs before sitting down next to him. Then he tilts his head and focuses his full attention on him. 

“I—my dad and I, we don’t really… work,” he starts carefully. “I had to get away, you see. That’s why I came to New York.” 

“That’s why you came to New York,” Daniel repeats softly, nodding more to himself than to Max. “And you’re feeling better here?” 

Max breathes out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I certainly do.” 

“Then I’m glad to be a part of that.” The beginning of a grin appears on Daniel’s face and Max’s stomach does somersaults. Maybe he’s a too-big part, actually. “Hey, do you wanna stay for dinner? I was going to make fried rice, but we can get take-out, if you want.” 

He shouldn’t. 

But maybe Max revels in being miserable, because he says, “I’d like that.” 

⁂

He gets home at eleven at night. Lando pulls off his headphones from where he’s sitting on the couch and, at Max’s warning glare, says nothing, but still waggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles as he walks past. 

“I wasn’t saying anything!” Lando protests, offended. 

“You were saying enough,” Max calls over his shoulder, moving straight past Pierre. “Good night.” 

Needless to say, he can’t sleep. He’s haunted by the echo of Daniel’s laugh and the feeling of his hands on Max’s wrist, the grip still burning from hours ago at Central Park. 

⁂

Classes start again and throughout the entire month of September, he doesn’t see Daniel as much as he’s used to. Perhaps that’s for the better. 

He works more shifts with Charles and Nico after his classes, often closing up with the former. Against his initial dislikes of Charles, he’s found that the guy isn’t as bad as he thought—though, he does complain so much about everything that Max would rather go deaf some days. It’s funny to hear Charles mutter to himself in French, which usually happens when there are annoying customers around or whenever he drops something. Max doesn’t realize he often does the same but in Dutch until Charles points it out, and they spend half an hour trading curse words in their own language. 

“You curse a lot with diseases, no?” 

Max shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t know what is up with that either.” 

Charles nods to himself, muttering a swear-word in broken Dutch. “ _Godverdomme_.” 

He’s grown rather fond of Charles. They bond over their hate for pumpkin spice lattes—they already sell those and it’s not even October yet—and Charles shows him how to make papaya smoothies while he tells him his worst customer stories. 

His roommates come in one late afternoon, coats glistening with cold rain. 

“A pumpkin spice latte, please,” Lando says, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Max grinds his teeth. “I’m going to strangle you.” 

“Pierre?” Charles peeks over Max’s shoulder. 

“Charles, _mon chéri!”_ Pierre grins, and immediately starts rattling in rapid fire French. 

George, Lando and Max exchange tired looks and Max goes to work on a mocha frappuccino for Lando and a vanilla macchiato for George. When Lando opens his mouth to object, Max silences him with a glare. “You don’t even like coffee. Take it or leave it.” 

Lando is too stubborn to admit that Max is right. 

Charles and Pierre are still busy talking in French and Max quite literally pushes Charles from behind the counter. “Go sit down or something, stop getting in my way.” 

George and Lando get into a heated discussion about the worst type of pet to have and as Max clears out the tables, cleans the espresso machine, helps a few customers and reorganizes the cups, he listens to their bickering, rolling his eyes to himself but unable to help the smile that creeps onto his face. 

“Hello, ladies.” 

Max looks up, heart stuttering when he spots Daniel in the door opening. 

“ _Mon Dieu,_ why are you here, Daniel? Did I not send you home at twelve?” Charles frowns from where he’s sitting with Pierre. 

“I just came to see if you two hadn’t burned down the building yet. Had to drop something off in Christian’s office anyway.” Daniel pushes through the single swinging door at the counter, past Max. “Hey, pretty boy, how’s it rolling?” 

“Quite good, actually,” Max says. Daniel swings an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into his side. 

“Has Charles done any work today or should I go kick his ass for abandoning you?” Daniel is warm and solid against him. Max wants more than anything to lean into his touch, to sink into the warmth that wraps around him like a blanket. 

He snorts. “He’s been unusually respectable today, if I’m honest.” 

“Hm. That’s new.” 

“I think I’m finally starting to warm up to him.” 

Daniel turns to look at him, corners of his mouth tugging upwards. “As long as you don’t like him more than you like me, I’m good.” 

“I could never,” Max replies, his tone light. Daniel will never know how much truth those words hold. Then his grin fades in realization. “Oh, by the way, I still have your shirt at home. I washed it, I’ll bring it with me next time.” 

Max is painfully aware of the fact that Lando and George have fallen silent. One glare their way has Lando clearing his throat and whipping his head around. He has to grab George’s arm not to fall off his stool. 

“No rush, don’t worry about it. It might be one of my favorite shirts but I’ll make an exception for you.” 

Right. Daniel is doing everything but helping his case. Max clears his throat. “D’you want anything to drink?” 

Dan grins, letting go of his shoulder. “One americano, please,” he says as he walks towards Christian’s office. “You make those better than anyone else in this goddamn hellhole!” 

It slowly gets dark outside and it’s surprisingly calm for the rest of the night. Charles makes everyone dinner, and it’s nothing fancy but they all squish themselves around a single table and it feels cozy. Daniel plants himself right next to Max, squeezing in between him and Pierre. Charles throws him a strange look but Max makes a point to ignore it. 

“How do you say that again? Wait—” Daniel holds up a hand, brows furrowed in thought before his face lights up. “ _Gezelligheid_.” 

Max laughs, clapping his shoulder. “You’re getting better, mate.” 

“Practice makes perfect, right?” 

Their legs and arms are pressed together and Daniel shoves his knee against Max’s on purpose, almost making him stumble into Lando. They all try to make sense of the French conversation on the other side of the table but give up soon enough, and Lando opens up his discussion with George to them. 

“Guinea pigs and rats are both useless, mate,” Max shrugs, resting one elbow on the table. “Like, you can’t do anything with them. They’re disgusting. If you’re gonna take a pet, at least consider getting, like…” 

“A dog,” Max and Daniel say simultaneously. Max’s eyes twinkle as he looks at Dan. The bell jangles and he turns around, already moving to stand up, but Daniel puts a hand on his thigh. 

“I got it, don’t worry.” 

After the last actual customers have left the cafe, Max and Daniel clean up the kitchen together, working seamlessly and effectively. Charles, damn the guy, remains seated, but Max would be lying if he said he minded. 

Max has to stop a few times because he’s laughing so hard that his stomach hurts. Daniel makes an effort to come up with the most ridiculous pickup lines and whenever Max halts because he can’t breathe, Daniel smacks him with a towel. 

“This is borderline harassment at work,” Max manages to get out, eyeing Daniel’s hands suspiciously and wiping away a stray tear under his lashes. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Daniel grins, “you’re laughing the hardest, mate.” 

“I bet you get off on this shit, don’t you?” Max says, grabbing a rag from the sink. 

Daniel inclines his head. “Yeah, actually,” he states, “except I usually spank a little harder.” 

Max chokes on his own spit and breaks into such a violent coughing fit that he doubles over. He’s barely caught his breath before Daniel lashes out with the towel again and Max jumps back, trying to avoid the tail. “Stop!” He shrieks with laughter, cheeks on fire. 

“Are you guys killing each other back there or something?” Charles yells from the front and Max rests an arm on the kitchen island for support, thankful for the distraction as he gulps down fresh breaths of air. 

“No.” Daniel pokes his head through the serving hatch. “We’re just discussing kinks.” 

“We are not!” Max shouts. 

Daniel turns back, folding his arms as a lopsided grin showcases the dimple on the right side of his cheek. “We could be.” 

“You’re evil,” Max shoots back. He _is_ evil, with his tantalizing smile and magnetic charms. He just doesn’t know that himself. “A child of Satan.” 

“Hot as hell, correct,” Daniel grins, balling up the towel before throwing it into the laundry bag. “I’ll let you off the hook this time.” Then he stalks out of the kitchen. 

If Max stays behind for a minute, needing a moment to himself, he acts like he’s just finishing up. 

By the time he’s gathered his jacket and bag, the rest of the group is outside already. Daniel waits for him at the door as Pierre, Charles, George and Lando walk ahead to the subway station, leaving them in the bleary light of the lamp posts lining the street. 

“I hope I didn’t overstep back there. It was only meant as a joke,” Daniel starts, stuffing his hands in his pockets after he’s locked the door. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Or if I hit too hard.” 

He takes a beat, contemplating. Then Max drawls, “You could’ve hit harder. Maybe I would’ve liked that.” 

He can hear the breath hitching in Daniel’s throat, just barely. A low heat flares to life, deep in his belly. Two can play this game, and Max doesn’t like losing. 

Daniel softly shakes his head and chuckles to himself. “You’re going to be the death of me, Max Verstappen.” 

He looks up at that, meeting Daniel’s gaze in the pale street light, the night a dark gloom above them. Charles and his roommates are fifty feet ahead of them, Lando on George’s back, nothing more than faint clamoring in the distance. 

“I am your end?” 

Daniel’s eyes are shining, alive with an emotion Max can’t decipher. “You are my salvation.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Someone has been ceaselessly pounding on the front door for the past five minutes, and it’s not even six a.m. yet. 

Accepting his defeat with a groan, Max rolls off his bed and gets to his feet, not bothering to pull on a shirt or pants as he stalks through the living room towards the door. 

His roommates are truly lazy fucks, none of them bothering to open the door—he’s going to kill them—

Daniel is standing there, leaning against the doorpost with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Happy fucking birthday, mate!” 

Max’s eyes widen. “What—” 

“If you thought you could hide that from me, you’re very wrong and I’m very disappointed in you.” Daniel brushes past him, depositing a paper bag and two cups on the table. “We gotta go or we’ll be late, c’mon. Get dressed.” His eyes sweep over Max’s chest. “Or don’t. I don’t have a preference.” 

Max is tempted to ask where they’re even going at this time of day but Daniel’s shameless comment has left him a bit flustered, so he turns on his heel and vanishes down the hallway to hurriedly pull a sweatshirt over his head. 

When he emerges from his bedroom, Daniel is drumming his fingers on the tabletop. 

“It’s not even light outside yet,” he complains, still half-asleep. 

“Exactly, so we have to hurry.” Daniel hands him the paper bag and takes the carton with coffee himself, opening the door for Max to pass through. Once they’re outside the apartment building, Daniel casually slips his hand in Max’s, intertwining their fingers before tugging him along. 

It goes without saying that his heart misses a beat. Or two. 

He would say that he has no clue where they’re going, but once they step onto the subway towards Borough Hall, he has a feeling he knows. 

The same security guard is sitting behind the front desk when they enter the building—Mitch, if Max remembers correctly—and he greets them with a smile as Daniel drags Max to the elevators. 

Max is, for once, speechless as they step out onto the roof. Last time he was here, it had been night. Right now, the sun is only just coming up, shrouding the sky in soft tints of pink, orange and blue. 

Daniel sits down on one of the chairs, putting the coffee down on the side-table before kicking up his feet. “Not every day is your birthday, mate. You gotta celebrate one way or another.” 

He smiles as he flops down in the chair next to Dan, fumbling with his fingers in his lap. “Wh—thanks. I—I never really celebrate birthdays, so…” 

“I hope you at least forgive me for dragging you out of bed at a scandalously early hour,” Dan winces. 

He snorts. “Obviously.” He drapes his legs over Dan’s, nudging his ankle with a foot. 

“Did you have any birthday plans, then? If you never really celebrate?” Daniel leans over to hand Max the cup with _birthday boy_ scribbled on the side. 

His hands rest in his lap, curled around the coffee cup. “Dunno. Work this afternoon after class and then probably just going out for dinner with my roommates.” 

“Sounds lame.” Without looking up, Max can hear the grin in Daniel’s voice. “Glad to have forced myself into your tightly packed schedule.” 

“It’s not like I wouldn’t have seen you at work,” he rolls his eyes. 

Dan shrugs. “Well, maybe I wanted you to myself for a moment. I’m selfish, you know.” 

He wants to make a joke to discharge the words, but he can’t bring himself to. Perhaps he’ll allow himself to sink into this sensation, just for today, to let himself dream what it could be like. What _they_ could be like. 

“I have a gift for you,” Daniel says suddenly, pointing his finger to Max before he untangles their legs and grabs his backpack a few feet away. He hands over a neatly wrapped package. 

Max tries his best not to stare at the man in front of him as he tears the paper with trembling hands. It’s a phone case, and when he looks at it a bit closer, he recognizes the design—it’s his drawings, the doodles he idly sketched during slow hours of work on paper cups for his coworkers. 

His mouth goes dry. 

“What—” 

Daniel rocks back on his heels, almost like he’s nervous. “It’s your doodles. From during work.” 

“How—how did you do this?” Max asks with an unbelieving expression on his face, fingers trailing over the black lines. 

“I have a great memory,” Daniel jokes. “No, I actually took pictures of them before the others threw ‘em out.” 

He’s not sure what to say. His heart beats weakly in his chest. 

“Soo… do you like it?” 

“I love it,” Max breathes, getting his phone out of his pocket to switch out the old case. He stares at it for a moment longer before jumping to his feet and crushing Daniel in a hug. 

Daniel laughs, the rich sound ringing through the chilly morning air, and stumbles back a step to catch them both before they fall. Then he wraps his arms around Max, the weight of them a comfortable safety around his waist. . 

He doesn’t pull back until he’s absolutely certain that there are no tears ready to spill. “Thank you. I really—I really appreciate it.” Their eyes lock, and only then does Max notice they’re so close that he can feel Daniel’s breath sweeping over his cheek. They’re so close that he can count the sun-tanned freckles on Daniel’s nose. 

For a moment, he wonders what would happen if he’d lean in right now. 

“Of course,” Daniel smiles. “That’s what friends are for, right?” 

Whether the words were a conscious choice or not, they hit him like a blow to the gut. Max swallows hard and forces a smile onto his face. “Right.” 

They share chocolate croissants on the rooftop as the sun starts its ascent in the sky. Daniel tries to pronounce _pain au chocolat_ , but no matter how many times Max says it for him, he can’t seem to get it right. 

If Daniel notices any changes in Max’s demeanor, he doesn’t let it on. 

Half an hour before his lecture starts, they take the subway back to his student housing so he can grab his books. 

“I can walk you to class?” Daniel proposes, but Max politely declines. 

“You should get back to the cafe before Nico burns another toasty and accidentally lights a pile of napkins on fire again.” 

Dan inclines his head, then slowly nods. “Okay, you have a point. I’ll see you later today?” 

“Sure.” Max bites on the inside of his cheek. “Thanks for the surprise. And for the gift. I love it.” 

“Always for you,” Daniel beams. He waves one last time and vanishes out of the lobby. 

Daniel always says one thing, then continues to suggest another. It messes more with Max’s head than thermodynamics did, and that says a lot. And it’s not just that—it exhausts him, constantly switching between _up_ and _down_ , _yes_ and _no_. He’s dizzy from trying to figure out what to do. 

He carefully avoids Daniel during his shift that afternoon without being too obvious about it, sticking to Charles’ side instead. Nico places a party hat on top of his head, snapping the elastic under his chin and forbidding him from taking it off for the rest of the afternoon. Charles films the entire ordeal and laughs so hard that the video is probably useless by how hard he’s shaking. 

The dinner with his roommates is surprisingly nice. Lando giggles as he tries to get Max drunk, but drinking too much is the last thing he needs right now, so he stops right after reaching pleasantly buzzed. When he lies in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling with a pained heart, he wonders why he likes to torment himself. 

⁂

Max keeps his distance for the entire month of October. 

⁂

It’s not like he actively avoids Daniel. Really, it’s not. 

He switches shifts with Charles simply because it fits better with classes and homework, and whenever he does work with Daniel, he acts normal. Or as normal as possible, because it’s pretty difficult to function properly when it feels like your vital organs can shut off any minute and your knees go weak at the barest hint of a smile thrown your way. 

And it helps—the first weeks make him realize a handful of things, the most important being that he’s lucky to have the people around him, to have Daniel, whether that’s just as a friend or not. A close second is that forcing space between him and Daniel hurts, but not as much he expected it to. It’s like a bruise, and the more he probes it, the less it stings. Maintaining that space—it’s surprisingly easy. 

But by the last week of October, his icy resilience has melted to raindrops, dripping into muddy puddles on a rain-slick street. 

“Thanks for taking over my shift,” Charles says as he unties his apron and runs through his hair with a hand. Max opens his mouth to reply, but Charles cuts him a glare. “That does not mean I forgive you for skipping out on my birthday party.” 

He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. “I told you I was sorry for that!” 

“And I told you that missing out on sushi was unforgivable.” Charles shakes his head, grinning at a memory. “It is a shame you didn’t see Daniel during karaoke. It was hilarious.” 

Max doesn’t feel like it’s a shame—Daniel was the sole reason he passed up on joining—but he shakes his head compassionately. “I’ll be there next time,” he promises.

Charles gives him a look that tells him he doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t press on about it. “Daniel will be back in fifteen minutes, he had to go to his apartment to grab something. You’ll be alright in the meantime?” 

“Of course.” Max rolls his eyes, nerves spiking at the mention of Daniel’s name. 

“Okay, good luck. See ya!” He waves one last time, adjusting his backpack on his back, and rushes out the door. 

Max gathers the dirty cups and plates from the empty tables and brings them to the kitchen, and he’s just retying the string of his apron when Daniel strolls in, hands in his pocket, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. 

It’s laughable how the breath is knocked straight out of his lungs, how his legs feel like they can dissolve any moment. He places a hand on the counter, focuses on the feeling of the cool marble under his splayed fingers. 

He _has_ to get a grip. 

“Maxy!” Daniel calls out, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. “Didn’t know you’d be working today!” 

His mouth twists up at the nickname. “I swapped shifts with Charles, actually.” 

“Well, you won’t hear me complaining,” he says, shrugging off his coat as he walks past him into the kitchen. “I feel like we haven’t worked on the same shift in forever.” 

Max bites on his lip. “We worked together last week, dumb ass. Not even five days ago.” 

Daniel leans through the doorpost to meet Max’s eyes and raises a brow. “That is five days too long, if you ask me.” 

The customer who walks in couldn’t have timed it better and Max is glad that he has an excuse to turn away before Dan can see the red creeping onto his cheeks. 

It’s the usual bustle for a Thursday afternoon. Daniel acts like he’s busy but he watches intently as Max uncaps a sharpie with his teeth and doodles on a napkin, bent over the counter. 

In return, when Daniel helps new customers, Max watches him from the side, trying not to stare at the muscles under his t-shirt rippling when he shakes the milk carton before pouring it into the pitcher. An idea pops into his head and he snakes past Daniel’s side to grab a paper cup. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“Nothing interesting,” Max shrugs, discreetly trying to hide the cup out of view when Daniel turns back to him a few minutes later. “If there’s anything I have to do, just give me a sign.” 

Daniel mutters something inaudible under his breath as he turns away. 

“What was that?” 

“I said I will.” But from his light tone Max knows that it’s a lie. 

He shrugs, letting it go. He plants both elbows on the counter, twirling the sharpie in his fingers and squinting at the doodles for a second as he contemplates what else to add. He listens in on a girl that orders a non-fat cappuccino with half an espresso shot and then continues to ask if they can take off the foam. 

“So you want a latte?” Daniel tries politely. 

“No, a cappuccino. Just no milk foam.” 

Daniel sighs imperceptibly and locks gazes with Max out of the corner of his eye, who has to press a hand in front of his mouth to stop himself from laughing. 

After she’s left with her drink, they discuss the definition of a cappuccino as Daniel cuts a slice of lemon drizzle cake from the pastry case in half and gives Max the bigger part. 

Max flips the paper cup upside down, feeling Daniel’s stare burn, signs it with his name on the bottom. Then he hands it to Dan. 

“What’s this?” He asks, surprise lacing his voice. His gaze flicks between Max and the cup. It has the same concept as Max’s phone case, but it’s like a sleeve wrapped around the cup, and it’s solely doodles that reminded him of Daniel. Surfboards and oranges included. 

It’s so easy to spiral. There’s barely a scrap left of that resilience. 

“’S just… I was bored.”

“Bored?” Daniel raises a brow. “You’re calling me boring?” 

“I certainly am, old man. Had to resort to this to avoid falling asleep.” 

“Are you forgetting that I have the ability to fire you?” Daniel needles him, putting the cup down and resting his knuckles on the counter. 

Max stretches his arms above his head, yawning exaggeratedly. “Oh, you wouldn’t. No way you’d get rid of me. I’m your best employee, obviously.” 

“That’s true. First part, I mean.” He laughs, then picks up the cup again. “This is amazing, mate. Sick.” 

“What’s all this talk about your best employee?” Nico is suddenly behind them, pushing past Max. “Because he’s just arrived.” 

“Oh, sure,” Max rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you a little early, by the way? You’re not supposed to start until five.” 

Nico opens his mouth, checks his watch, then closes it again. “See? I’m such a good employee that I willingly come in an hour early.” 

Max slaps his hand on his forehead. “Idiot.” 

But the idiot does give him the choice to head home much sooner than he expected, and he’s okay with giving up the title of star employee for that. 

He’s just pulling on his denim jacket in the back when Daniel walks in. “Hey, I was wondering… I was planning on hanging up some decorations for the holidays tomorrow, would you mind lending me a hand? Don’t think I can get up the string lights all on my own. At least not without breaking my back.” 

Max stares at him, having noticed the tense posture and strung sentences. A part of him wants to ask if it’s not a little early to decorate, but it’s halfway through November already and he’s not the type to purposely torment someone who’s already a little nervous. 

“If you already have plans, don’t worry about it—” 

“No, of course. It’s all good, I’ll help,” he cuts in. So much for keeping his distance. 

Daniel’s tight expression gives way to a bright grin that makes Max’s limbs go weak. “Great. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

He smiles. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

⁂

They close an hour earlier on Friday. When Max asks if that’s allowed, Daniel shrugs. “What are the customers gonna do? File a complaint? That’s going straight into the paper shredder.” 

Touché. 

They start by getting a dozen boxes from the storage in Christian’s office, jogging up and down the stairs. “If I have sore muscles tomorrow,” Max complains, “I’m blaming you.” 

“You’re a big baby,” Daniel huffs, pinching his arm, then halting. He inclines his head. “Mate, have you been working out?” 

Max flushes scarlet. “Does it matter?” 

“Just appreciating the feel,” Daniel gets out before bursting out laughing. Max grumbles a curse under his breath.

“I can’t stand you.” 

“Oh, I’ve heard that one before.” 

He turns on his heel and walks up the stairs by means of an answer. Daniel’s laugh echoes after him. 

Once all the boxes are stacked around them and the tables are shoved out of the way, Daniel grabs a blank sheet of paper and a pencil, sketching the outline of where every single decoration is supposed to end up. “So, string lights from there till there. These,” Daniel holds up some paper ornaments, “will be in front of the window. I don’t wanna put up the Christmas tree until after Thanksgiving.” 

“Do you celebrate Thanksgiving?” Max frowns. 

“No. I didn’t when I lived in Australia and I’m not doing it now. But apparently customers care a lot about that.” Dan takes a beat. “Do you?” 

Max shakes his head. “We don’t have Thanksgiving in the Netherlands. I’m not about to start celebrating it because I live in New York. We have a different holiday on December fifth at home, actually. I used to celebrate that with my entire family. My sister and I looked forward to it all year.” 

As they get to work, Max tells him about _Sinterklaas_ , what it used to be like to celebrate it with his sister. 

“Don’t you want to celebrate it here, then?” Dan asks from where he’s perched on top of a table, brows furrowed in concentration as he pins string lights to the ceiling. Max stands beside him to make sure he doesn’t fall over, but his hands remain at his sides, hesitant about where to place them. 

“Not really. The whole thing is a little… shitty, to say.” He winces. “And it’s kind of like Christmas, anyway, so I’m not missing out or anything.” 

They talk about traditions and family dinners, slowly making their way around the café with the lights, trading places halfway through. Max tells a story about him and his sister from when they were younger. Daniel’s hand rests on the back of his thigh, burning prints through his skinny jeans, and it’s an effort of will not to let his voice waver. 

He wonders if Daniel knows even a fraction of the effect he has on him. It’s almost comical. 

Music plays softly in the back—Dan’s taste in music is questionable at best—while they fold silly paper ornaments, trying to figure out the best way to hang them in front of the windows. 

Max laughs so hard at Daniel’s vulgar jokes that there are tears leaking down his face. They spend at least half of the time throwing M&M’s to each other, making minor attempts to catch them with their mouths while simultaneously making it more difficult for the other to aim right. 

It’s just before twelve when they finish up. Max is pretty sure half the floor is covered in chocolate and they did more harm than good, but he hasn’t laughed this hard in a long time and he feels so loose, so unrestricted.

“Oh wait, I love this song,” Daniel calls out, diving into the kitchen to turn up the volume. 

Max listens to the rhythm, unfamiliar to him, and his eyes flit back to Daniel, who’s climbed on top of the counter and has progressed to aggressively playing the air guitar. He tries and fails to keep in a laugh. 

It ends after a minute and a half and Daniel jumps onto the ground, already complaining about his favorite songs being too short when he shuts up again. His head snaps to Max. “Now this— _this_ is the best song to ever exist.” 

Max positively doubts that.

Dan closes his eyes, swaying along to the soft tune emerging from the speakers. When he opens his eyes again, he’s standing right in front of Max. “Dance with me.” 

“What?” 

“Oh, come on,” Daniel grins, lifting his chin in soundless challenge. His brown eyes are twinkling, the countless lights reflecting in his pupils. 

“Dance? With you?” His nostrils flare. His heart is racing, palms turned sweaty at his sides. 

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Have you lost the ability to understand English? Yes, dance. With me.” 

“I can’t dance,” Max protests weakly, desperate to get out of this. He can’t do this— _his heart_ can’t do this. 

“Bullshit,” Daniel insists, grabbing Max’s hand in one smooth movement before he can pull away. “There’s no such thing as not being able to dance.” 

Max has spent enough nights at clubs with Lando and George to know that the opposite is true, but he highly doubts he can get out a coherent sentence right now, so he bites on the inside of his cheek and shuts up. 

“Besides, I’m pretty sure my toes will survive.” 

He lets out a nervous laugh, forcing himself to release some of the tension in his shoulders and leaning into Daniel’s touch a little more. Daniel places one of Max’s hands on the curve of his shoulder and lets his own rest just above the dip of Max’s waist. 

Daniel closes his eyes again and grins as he listens to the song, slowly swaying to the rhythm. “This song reminds me of home,” he admits quietly. His voice carries the fond memory of distant shores and warm weather. 

This song will forever remind Max of this moment, in all its surreal glory. “I like it,” Max says. Can Daniel feel his pulse fluttering under his fingers? 

It’s silent for a long moment. Then Daniel asks, quietly, “Have you been avoiding me?” 

Max looks up to meet his gaze. “Why would you think that?” He frowns. 

“It’s just…” Dan looks a little lost as he tries to find the words, that twinkle in his eyes faded. He glances at the wall behind Max. “We used to work together every single day. And then obviously, classes started, and you’re in your senior year so I get that you have to focus on college. But you barely even study at Blue Coast anymore. Sometimes I don’t see you for four days, or five.” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that. 

Daniel frowns softly. “I’d get it if you say that I’ll have to get used to it. But that’s the problem. It’s something I don’t want to get used to.” 

Max opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “It’s…” 

“…complicated?” Daniel supplies. He has a faint grin on his face, but it fails to hide the sliver of hurt and trepidation in his expression. 

He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah.” The music plays on in the background. A new song starts, soft piano filling the empty space between them. “Would you believe me if I say that it has nothing to do with you?” 

Something in Dan’s gaze changes. His fingers squeeze their joined hands gently, encouraging him to continue. 

“I’m—my feelings are complicated,” he says. “I create distance to protect myself. From others.” 

Max, despite himself, wants to smooth out the crease that forms between Daniel’s brow with his thumb. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me,” Daniel murmurs. “Never from me.” 

A part of him wants to believe that. The other part knows that it’s not true. 

He shifts his hand, letting it rest where Daniel’s neck meets his shoulder. He can feel the taut muscles underneath his fingertips. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “For keeping my distance. It had nothing to do with you, I promise. I—I just get like that sometimes.” 

“It’s okay,” Daniel smiles. “Just glad we cleared up that you don’t hate me.” 

Max tightens his hand and gives him a little shake, giving him a stern look. “Never. I could never hate you.” 

Daniel stares at him for a second, then resumes their slowed movements. His grin fades to a contented smile and he pulls Max a little closer. 

After a minute, Max lets out a sudden laugh, nearly startling Daniel. “What?” He asks, eyes wide. 

“I just realized I still haven’t returned your shirt,” Max laughs, dropping his head to Dan’s shoulder. “It’s been, what, four months?” 

“You might as well keep it,” Daniel remarks, letting his head rest against Max’s as he glances at the string lights on the wall. Then he looks at Max. “I think my clothes look rather good on you, anyway.” 

Max snaps up, blood pounding in his ears. “Are you—” 

Daniel leans forward and kisses him. 

His lips are soft and warm on Max’s. He tenses, mind short-circuiting, but then he melts into it. 

The kiss is better than it was in any of his dreams. 

When they part, Daniel rasps out, “You have no clue how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” 

Max doesn’t have the right words—he never seems to be able to find them whenever he needs to, so instead he grabs a handful of Daniel’s collar and draws him in again. 

He parts his lips, tongue sliding over the seam of Dan’s lower lip. Daniel wraps his arms around Max’s waist and pulls him close, and it’s heat and blood pounding through his ears and the sense that he’s falling, falling, falling. 

He wants to drown in this feeling. 

The lack of breath forces them to pull back. “You have no clue how long I’ve been wanting _you_ ,” Max finally replies, voice hoarse. 

Daniel’s grin is even better when he can feel it against his lips. 

“D’you wanna get back to my apartment?” Daniel asks softly, his breath warm on Max’s face. His voice doesn’t carry any promises or expectations, just a deep sense of longing that echoes into a sizzling part of his chest. 

Not trusting his voice, he nods. 

It’s cold outside but Daniel holds Max’s hand all the way to his apartment, both of them unable to refrain from smiling into the night air. 

They share kisses in the dark of Daniel’s bedroom, legs entangled under the soft covers, muffled giggles ringing through the air. It’s almost five in the morning when they finally fall asleep, Daniel’s arms wrapped around Max like they were made for it. 

Max is 17 all over again, and his heart feels like it could burst. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooohh shit 👀 
> 
> leave a comment !!!! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is 9.2k words lmao strap in guys
> 
> also just a trigger warning; there's two parts in this chapter with sexual content so feel free to skip that if it makes you uncomfortable !!

Golden sunlight filters in through the blinds, creating striped patterns on the white covers. Max squints his eyes against the brightness and buries his head in the pillow. 

There’s a heavy weight around his stomach and Max looks down to see tan arms contrasting with his pale skin. He smooths his fingers over the tattoos, trailing them one by one, and wonders if he’s still dreaming. 

Daniel inhales deeply behind him, arms tightening around his waist. Max wiggles to create some space so he can turn around. 

“Good morning,” Daniel rasps, voice thick with sleep. His curls are flattened against one side of his head, eyes half-opened against the bright light. 

“Morning,” Max whispers. His fingers itch to brush through Daniel’s hair. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Never slept so good before,” Daniel says, rolling onto his back as he smiles at the ceiling. They lie in silence for a long moment, and Max takes in the feeling of Dan’s skin on his. “D’you want breakfast?” Without waiting for a reply, he slips out from under the covers. Max nearly whines at the loss of warmth but it catches in his throat as he watches Daniel pad through the room, rays of sunshine making shadows dance across his back. He pulls a shirt over his head. 

“Your bed is so comfortable,” Max proclaims, flipping onto his stomach and spreading his arms wide. “Not sure I’ll be able to get up. Ever.” 

“Then don’t,” Daniel says simply, hint of a smirk on his face as he crosses his arms in the doorpost. “I certainly don’t mind the sight.” He vanishes into the living room before he can see Max’s cheeks flushing. 

Max listens to pans clattering and the stove igniting. He presses his face further into Daniel’s pillow as the events of last night catch up to him. A trickle of insecurity threatens to seep into his bloodstream, but he pushes it away, focusing on the sounds coming from the kitchen and the soft cotton of the duvet in his fingers. Daniel wouldn’t have kissed him if he didn’t actually like Max, least of all let him sleep in his bed and cook him breakfast the morning after. 

Only when the smell of freshly brewed coffee makes his mouth water does Max drag himself out of bed. He stares at his jeans for a minute before hesitantly taking the grey sweatpants folded over the back of the chair. 

He feels almost self-conscious as he walks into the kitchen in Daniel’s sweats and his own shirt, hoping he hasn’t overstepped. Daniel has put on some music and is bopping his head along to the rhythm, turning around with a sizzling pan in his hands. “I wasn’t sure if—” He stops talking, eyes snagging on the picture of Max wearing his clothes. 

Suppressing a smile, Max takes a seat on one of the stools. “Ooh, is that French press?” He glances to the coffee on the counter behind Daniel. 

“Uh… yeah—it is,” Daniel gets out, turning back to put the pan down. He fills up a cup and places it in front of Max, who gratefully takes it from him. 

He recognizes the mug from the first time he was at Daniel’s apartment. His fingers smooth over the chipped ear. 

“I wasn’t lying yesterday, you know,” Daniel says, leaning over the counter. “I do think my clothes look rather good on you.” 

Max presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking and looks down at his coffee. 

Daniel puts down two plates with eggs and toast before sitting down on the stool next to Max. There isn’t nearly enough space for the both of them at the tiny bar but Max wouldn’t want it any other way, knees pressed together and Daniel’s hand drawing mindless figures on his thigh. 

“Do you have any plans for today?” Dan asks, resting one elbow on the counter. 

Max swallows the bite that he was chewing on. “Uhm—just some schoolwork, got a deadline on Monday that I need to work on. And it’s Lando’s birthday tomorrow, so we’re probably going out tonight.” 

Daniel has to work later that afternoon and considering that it’s almost twelve already, Max should really go home. After they finish breakfast, Max helps with washing the dishes and gets a full cup of warm water splashed over his shirt, making him shriek obnoxiously loud and Daniel just laughs, one hand on his stomach. 

He changes in Daniel’s bedroom, suspecting that the spilled water was part of his plan along when Dan hands him one of his shirts. He wiggles into his jeans and rolls his eyes when he pulls it over his head, feeling like a prize on a pedestal as Daniel just observes the entire time.

He isn’t used to feeling so _seen_. 

Max flops on the edge of the bed to tie his shoelaces and looks up to see that Daniel’s eyes are still following him intently, pupils dilated. 

“Okay, then,” Max clears his throat, rubbing a hand over his thigh. He’s not sure what to say or do. “I guess I should go. Thanks for, uh, letting me stay over—” 

Daniel pushes himself off the wall and reaches the bed in three strides, towering over Max—he has to crane his neck to be able to see his face—and Daniel nudges his shoulders back slightly. Then he moves to straddle Max’s lap in a smooth movement. 

Max’s breath comes out in a shuddering gasp as Daniel’s weight settles on top of him. Dan gently cradles his cheeks in his hands, fingerprints warm on his skin, and kisses him. 

It’s only been a few hours since they last kissed but Max doesn’t know how he ever survived without the feeling. 

His mouth is warm and wet. Max twines his arms around Daniel’s waist and drags him closer until he’s flush against Max’s chest. 

Daniel pulls back from the kiss long enough to whisper against his lips, “I like you, Max Verstappen.” 

He would laugh but he’d rather be kissing him so he leans back in and parts his lips, sliding his tongue against Daniel’s. Daniel groans quietly and presses down into Max’s lap, hands tugging on the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I should go,” Max mumbles coarsely, but neither of them move. 

It takes another thirty minutes before he’s actually out the door, the places where Daniel’s hands strayed underneath his shirt burning tattoos on his skin. He’s sweating under his jacket, hopes he doesn’t look to flushed for when he gets home, and sticks his arm through the other strap of his backpack, hoisting it higher onto his back. 

George looks like he’s just woken up when Max unlocks the front door, finding two of his roommates around the dining table. “And where have you been?” George asks with raised brows, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Hm. That sounds like it’s none of your business,” Max remarks. He flings his keys on the counter. 

Lando sits up from where he is lying on the couch, squinting his eyes at Max for a long second. Max stares right back, raising a brow and folding his arms over his chest. Lando’s eyes flick to the shirt. Then a knowing grin breaks out on his face. 

“One word,” Max threatens, “and you’re dead.” 

He lifts his hands in the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Max shakes his head as he disappears into his room, flopping down behind his desk. He tries, he really does, but it’s fucking impossible to focus on writing a paper when all he can think about is Daniel’s mouth, his hands, the feeling of his body against his own. 

After two hours, he gives up and rummages through his dresser for a clean pair of jeans before hopping under the shower. With one towel slung over his shoulder and hair still dripping wet, he turns on his phone. Judging from Daniel’s messages, he’s bored out of his mind at work. Saturdays are either ridiculously busy or so slow that it’s possible to fall asleep from boredom, and Max takes a wild guess that it’s the latter today. He chews on his thumb as he sends a few texts back, sauntering down the hallway. 

He doesn’t realize that his roommates are all staring at him until he looks up from the screen. “Oh my god, what!” 

“Nothing,” Pierre shrugs, one corner of his mouth curved up. “You just look different. Good, but different.” 

He should’ve known that nothing goes past his roommates. 

Lando slaps his hand flat on the table, pushing back his chair. “Okay, everyone ready to go?” 

They take the subway to Lando’s favorite restaurant. Right before they enter the place, Lando places a hand on Max’s shoulder and holds him back for a second. “Hey, I just—I just wanted to say that I’m happy for you.” He shifts from one leg to the other. “I know it’s none of my business and I probably don’t know the half of it— and that doesn’t mean you have to tell me anything—but… it’s a good look on you.” Lando smiles, then follows after Pierre and George. 

_What is a good look on me?_ , Max wants to ask, but as he looks at the breath clouding in front of him, he knows the answer. 

Being in love is. 

⁂

Max awakes the next morning with a pounding headache and a throat that feels like it’s made of sandpaper. He’s wearing Daniel’s shirt again—apparently he was sober enough to change clothes after coming home last night—and his phone is on his nightstand, the battery dead. 

He groans, rubbing his eyes before kicking back the covers. 

Lando is sitting at the table, looking as miserable as Max feels. 

“Happy birthday, ass bag,” Max greets him. 

“I’m never drinking again,” Lando replies, bleary eyed and pale. 

“You just turned 21. You’re only just allowed to drink here,” Max says, but he gets the sentiment. 

Lando raises a brow, resting his chin on his arms. “I grew up in Europe. You underestimate me.” 

Fair enough. He grabs two glasses of water and passes one to Lando as he sits down next to him, glancing at George, who’s spread out on the couch, feet dangling over the edge, pillow pulled over his head. 

“Yeah, don’t bother. I’ve been trying to get him to drink water for the past hour, but he claims that if he even moves a single muscle, he’s going to throw up instantly.” Lando rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck you. I heard that,” comes George’s muffled reply. “I’m only drinking coffee for the rest of the day.” 

Max snorts before looking down at his glass. 

“I’d rather die than drink coffee from your disgusting coffee machine,” Lando grumbles, chugging his water and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

His head snaps up. “We could, uh—d’you wanna get coffee from Blue Coast?” 

Lando shrugs. “Sure.” 

As Max changes into a pair of black jeans, he realizes that Lando might know he’s seeing someone, but that he doesn’t know who. Somehow, it’s a reassurance—he doesn’t even know what this thing between Daniel and him is, and he’d rather figure out himself before someone else does. 

The short walk through the cold clears his head, though it can’t get rid of that muddied haze clouding his mind. Lando bumps his shoulder into Max’s every few steps, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“I feel like I should remember a lot more of last night than I actually do,” Lando remarks. 

“God, me too,” Max mutters. Then they start a game of who can avoid stepping on the cracks in the pavement the longest. Max keeps winning so Lando resorts to shoving at his shoulders and they end up stumbling into Blue Coast, nearly bumping into a customer on her way out. 

Daniel stands behind the counter, already looking at Max intently. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he grins. “Wild night out?” 

“Yeah,” Lando groans, leaning one arm on the counter. “Hey, what do you recommend to cure a hangover?” 

He inclines his head. “I’ll make something. Go sit down and try not to be too miserable, or something.” 

Max steers Lando towards a table in the back and glances back at Daniel to throw him a small smile. 

Lando flops down on the bench and sighs deeply. “I do believe Pierre was worse off than all of us.” 

“You know it’s bad when he refuses to come out of his room,” Max comments, narrowing his eyes in thought. “We should bring him coffee when we get back. And George too. That man is gonna get food poisoning from his own coffee machine one day.” 

“We should just throw the damned thing out of the window. Or light it on fire.” 

“To be honest, if you look at what it has gone through already, I think it would even survive being pushed down a garbage disposal.” 

“We might have to put it in the middle of a summoning circle to get rid of it, then.” Lando drops his head on the backrest, then instantly winces. “I hate all of you. Why did you allow me to drink so much?” 

Max snorts, rolling his eyes as Lando flips back on his sunglasses. “You’re so dramatic.” 

“I can’t stand you, too, babe,” he replies, intertwining his fingers and settling them on his stomach. 

Daniel reaches their table with two clear cups and a plate balanced in his arms and raises his brows. Max shakes his head with a wave to Lando before taking the cups from Dan, fingers brushing. 

It should be silly but the touch sends electricity sparking down his spine. 

Max pushes one of the cups into Lando’s fingers and turns back to Dan, who hands him two forks for the slice of birthday cake he’s plunked onto the table. “Thanks,” Max says, smiling. 

“Oh my god, what’s in this?” Lando asks suddenly, sitting up a little straighter as he pushes the straw between his lips. 

“It’s iced tea, with coconut water. Helps against hangovers—trust me, if there’s one person who knows, it’s me.” 

Max sighs exasperatedly, shaking his head to himself. “You know what? You’re even worse than Lando.” 

“And you got us cake? You’re a lifesaver, mate,” Lando continues, unbothered by Max’s words. 

Daniel shrugs, one corner of his mouth tilted up. “Of course. Happy birthday, by the way.” 

Lando slides down the sunglasses to the tip of his nose. “Thanks. How’d you know?” 

“Oh, Max told me. He doesn’t ever shut up about you.” 

Lando giggles, sinking further into the couch. “Max, I’m flattered, but really, you shouldn’t have.” 

“I think I’ve found my worst fear,” Max grumbles, “you two in a room together.” 

Daniel’s fingers find his shoulder and dig into the skin. “And here you were, calling Lando dramatic.” 

A loud laugh escapes Lando’s mouth. “Good one, mate. I think we’d make a good team.” He closes his eyes again, sunglasses still balanced on the tip of his nose, and chews on the straw. 

Max stares at Daniel and raises a hand to his shoulder to curl around Daniel’s. 

“I like your shirt,” Daniel comments, eyes flicking down to Max’s chest.

His mouth goes dry. “Thanks,” he replies. “Borrowed it from a friend.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, the air thick with tension. It’s a miracle that Lando hasn’t picked up on it yet. 

“I texted you this morning,” Daniel says suddenly, and it’s full of the unspoken question why he hasn’t replied. 

His lips part in a silent o. “Shit, sorry about not texting back. My phone’s dead, must’ve drained the battery trying to order an uber last night.” 

At that, Daniel’s eyes crinkle, but Max doesn’t understand what’s so funny. “I have a charger in the back. D’you wanna come get it?” 

He’s so full of shit. He’s so _screwed_. 

Before he’s barely set one foot in the kitchen, Daniel has his collar bunched up in his hands and kisses him. He lifts Max up on the counter, cold metal digging into his thighs, but he doesn’t care, not when Daniel’s hands slip underneath his shirt and rest on his back, warm and soft. 

“I take it you’ve missed me?” Max laughs, though he’d be lying if he said that the realization that someone has missed _him_ makes him melt. 

“You could say that,” Daniel breathes, smiling against Max’s lips. “Though, the ongoing stream of messages you sent did help. 

Max pulls back, eyes widening. “ _No_. What did I do?” 

Daniel bursts out laughing, then pats around his pockets for his phone. “Don’t worry, it was really heartwarming.” 

With a slightly horrified expression, Max scrolls through the chat, groaning at the texts. Not all of them are sappy but there’s still too many that are ridiculously over the top. “Mate, why? I’m such an idiot.” 

“A very thoughtful idiot,” Daniel supplies, laughing at Max’s expression. He tilts his chin with a finger. “Oh come on, it’s fucking cute.” 

It seems unbelievable until Daniel kisses him, hot and slow and reassuring. Max pulls him in between his legs and twines his fingers in Dan’s curls. 

It’s not until Max hears the smooth rumble of Charles’ voice reverberating through the air that he leans back, suddenly remembering where they are and that they shouldn’t to this right here, on display. 

“I think we should get back,” Max gets out, trying to catch his breath. 

Daniel rests his forehead against Max’s. “Maybe.” Max wishes he could stay in this moment forever, sharing breaths and soft touches in silence, just the two of them.

A chair scrapes over the floor, followed by approaching footsteps. Daniel jumps back, pulling Max off the counter before he lets go of his wrist and turns on his heel, just in time as Charles pops his head into the kitchen. “What are you guys doing back here?” 

Max clears his throat awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. 

“Come on, Lando and I were just discussing plans for Thanksgiving.” 

“We have plans for Thanksgiving?” Max raises his brows. 

“We do now!” Charles rolls his eyes. “ _Dépêche-toi_ , come on.” 

Daniel turns back to Max with a charger in his hands. “Got it,” he says weakly, then bursts out laughing. Max smacks the back of Dan’s head as he walks past, taking the wire before leaving the kitchen. 

When he gets back to their table, there’s only a few crumbs of birthday cake left and Lando has taken Max’s iced tea, chewing the straw to a pulp as he intently listens to Charles’ animated talking. 

“Hey!” Max snaps, snatching back the cup. “That was mine.” 

Lando pinches his arm before pointing to Charles. “Shut up, he’s talking.” 

Daniel reaches their table and wordlessly hands Max a chocolate croissant, spinning a chair around and sitting on it backwards. He rests his chin on the backrest, smiling carefully at Max. 

“—okay, so Pierre and I did some, how you say, brain—brain—” 

“Brainstorming?” Daniel fills in. 

Charles snaps his fingers. “Yes, brainstorming. We can have Thanksgiving dinner together, with all of us—”

“And why would we do that?” Max asks, folding his arms over his chest. 

Charles rolls his eyes. “Why would we not? Sometimes I wonder how you find the joy in life, _mon ami_. Stop looking so sour and enjoy your friends’ company for once.” 

“Fine,” he says, exasperated, before taking a bite from the chocolate croissant. 

Lando kicks his shin under the table, eyes alight with amusement. Max kicks right back. 

“So, we were thinking that we could divide the tasks. Alex and Max can prepare the food—” 

“Oh, so Alex and I are doing all the work now?” Max interrupts again, on purpose this time. Charles, too caught up in the excitement for a typical Thanksgiving dinner, doesn’t realize that Max is just taking the piss and groans, slapping a hand over his face. 

_“Je ne te supporte pas, tu est un désastre! Arrête d’être une merde ou je te botte le cul!”_ Charles spits in rapid French, too fast for Max to pick up any words except _une merde_. He’s heard that often enough during work to understand what it means. 

“I take it that weren’t any love confessions, so I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Max replies, waving a hand towards Charles. “Okay, I’ll behave, please continue.” 

Charles inhales deeply. “Right, so, we can do it here in the shop, Daniel is fine with closing a few hours earlier—” 

Max slaps his hands on the table and turns to Dan, feigning anger. “You’re in on this too? Really?” He nearly shakes with the effort to keep in his laughter. 

Daniel rolls his eyes, blowing raspberries. “You’re such a killjoy. Let the poor man explain his plan.” 

He turns back to Charles, folding his hands and resting them on the table. “Okay. I promise I’ll shut up this time.” 

For a moment, Charles looks like he’s ready to grab his stuff and get out of here, or to even take a swing at Max, but he sighs. Then he opens his mouth, and starts talking. 

⁂

It’s two in the morning and the subway car is deserted. Max is huddled in his jacket against the cold, phone clenched in his hand. He turns it on and off mindlessly, listening to the soft click as he does. 

He shouldn’t be doing this right now—he’s got classes in the morning, and finals to prepare for too. He’d replied to Dan’s text half an hour ago, thoughtless to the fact that it was the middle of the night. 

Surprisingly, Daniel had texted back almost immediately. _Why are you still awake?_

_Can’t sleep._ And after that, _why are_ you _awake?_

_Can’t sleep either. I miss you._

It hadn’t taken much convincing for Max to hop on the subway to Daniel’s apartment. 

By the time he reaches Daniel’s front door, he’s shivering, hands stuffed in his pockets and collar pulled up. Daniel is waiting in the doorpost already, wearing a t-shirt and grey sweatpants that Max faintly recognizes. One of his socks has a hole at the big toe, showing a circle of tan skin. 

Daniel has a soft grin on his face, his face looking a bit sleepy and Max’s heart thumps in his chest at the sight.

He’s so breathtaking. 

He’s in Dan’s arms before he has the chance to say anything, and then Daniel finally kisses him, lips warm against Max’s cold ones. 

Daniel’s bed is comfortably warm and so is his body, pulled flush against Max. For all the texted promises of _getting better sleep_ at Dan’s place, the last thing on Max’s mind is sleeping and, judging by the way Daniel’s hands skim over his ribs to his spine, the same goes for him. 

Had Max expected anything else? Had it not all been leading to this either way? 

He’d blame it on the fact that he barely saw Daniel this week and, during the rare moments he did see him, never got Dan to himself for even a split second. But in truth, Max has been thinking about touching Daniel for a lot longer than just since they kissed. It’s months— _years_ —of pent-up lust and heated gazes and blurred memories, slices of interaction taken and spun into daydreams, hours spent staring at the ceiling wondering what it’d feel like to have Daniel’s hands on him. 

Now he knows. 

Daniel pushes him onto his back, his own weight settling half on top of him, and presses a string of open-mouthed kisses along Max’s jaw, down his throat. He sucks on his pulse point, and there’s something about the realization that he’s leaving marks that has Max hardening in his sweats. 

Impatient, Max pulls Dan up, tilting his chin so he can kiss him again. Daniel parts his lips in a silent gasp when Max grinds against him and he’s instantly biting on Dan’s lower lip before he slides their tongues together. 

Max, pulling back long enough to meet Daniel’s gaze, eyes darkened, can barely believe this is happening. Daniel right here, Daniel’s tongue in his mouth, Daniel’s dick half hard against his own, Daniel’s touch and taste and smell all around him. He wants to be good, he always wants to be good for him, but he also wants to spend hours learning everything about Daniel in this capacity, tasting every inch of his skin, finding every spot that’ll make him moan, drawing out all his fantasies, the sweet and soft ones but the rough and dirty ones too. 

But he’s still impatient. 

He pushes his hands under Daniel’s shirt, sliding his palm up his ribs and feeling the way his shoulder blades move. Daniel presses his hips down, grinding his hardening dick against Max’s and Max _whines_ , bites down on Daniel’s bottom lip, probably a little too hard because he yelps and pulls back. 

“Sorry,” Max breathes, and Daniel shakes his head, breathing hard, pupils so dilated that the brown of his irises has nearly vanished in the dim light of his bedroom. 

“D’you wanna—” Daniel starts, swallowing hard. “It’s late, maybe we should—” 

“If you’re gonna suggest going to bed, I will scream,” Max scoffs. 

Daniel runs his finger over Max’s lower lip, then slowly down his chest. “I’d like to make you scream some time,” he murmurs. 

Max’s dick twitches in his boxers. Daniel must’ve felt it at this angle, because a smile appears on his face and his fingers stop right above the waistband of Max’s sweats. “Can I?” 

“Please,” Max whispers. 

That’s all it takes—Daniel’s hand dips into his pants and wraps around Max’s dick, and he can’t help the moan that spills from his lips. 

Dan’s head snaps up and he looks at Max, almost in wonder. 

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is when Daniel spits in his hand, maintaining eye contact the entire time, and wraps his fingers around Max again. The slide of his hand is rough but it’s exactly what Max needs after months of not getting laid and being his own best friend in the shower. His head tips back against the pillows, eyes closing as he lets out a quiet moan. 

“You look so good like this,” Daniel murmurs, “So beautiful, all for me.” 

_All for you, only for you,_ Max wants to say, but he’s forgotten how to speak as Daniel strokes him faster. 

He reels Daniel back in for a kiss, sucks on his tongue, gasping when Dan teases his thumb over the slit of his dick and spreads the precome over his crown. 

Heat builds in the pit of his stomach. He bites on Daniel’s lower lip, reveling in the whine it elicits from him. 

Daniel pulls back to look down at where his hand is jerking Max’s dick, then he glances back at Max. “You have no idea what you do to me,” 

and it’s a confession that drives Max straight over the edge. He comes all over Daniel’s hand and his own stomach, so hard that he sees stars, and he has to take a moment to catch his breath. 

Once his breath has slowed, he opens his eyes to find that Daniel has pulled his own sweats down and looks at him with parted lips, his eyes blazing coals that burn right through Max’s soul. He watches for a moment, gaze dipping to where Daniel works his own dick, heart rate picking up. 

“Let me,” he whispers, voice hoarse, and shifts to wrap his slick fingers around Daniel. 

He lets out a gasp at the touch, eyes fluttering closed on instinct. Max sucks hickeys on his collarbones, admiring the work as he pulls back and fully focuses on getting Daniel off. 

Fingers dig into his bicep, blunt nails leaving half-moons on his skin. 

Daniel looks ethereal like this, knees sunken into the mattress, curls matted against his sweaty forehead, eyelashes fanned out on his flushed cheeks. He looks more beautiful than Max could have ever imagined. 

“I dreamed about this,” he murmurs, “So many times—” Max doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Daniel is coming all over Max’s thighs, chest heaving with ragged breaths. 

He doesn’t open his eyes until a few seconds afterwards, and then he smiles shakily. “You are... everything.” 

And normally he would’ve cracked a joke to ease the tension that he suddenly feels in his chest, but Daniel has a way of rendering him speechless. His cheeks get even redder than they were before. 

“Wait here,” Daniel murmurs, pushing himself off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. He returns with a towel and Max will forever deny the giggle that escapes him when Daniel cleans up the mess on his thighs and stomach. 

Later, when they’re lying under the covers with their legs entangled, Max shuffles so he can lay his head on Daniel’s chest and listen to the reassuring thump of his heartbeat. Daniel’s fingers skate over the exposed skin of Max’s shoulder, drawing figures and making goosebumps appear. 

He feels dizzy with the intimacy of it—how they’re lying here, skin on skin, Daniel’s stubble brushing against his forehead. 

And Max has always felt at home in the dark, but this time, it might simply be Dan’s arms around him that make him feel like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

⁂

Thanksgiving arrives sooner than Max expected, and he spends the entire Thursday in the kitchen with Alex. It’s almost torturous to hear Daniel all day from a few feet away and only be able to catch glimpses at him through the kitchen window, but Alex is good company and keeps him surprisingly distracted for most of the time. 

Daniel sweeps into the kitchen every now and then to make sure they don’t starve—which is impossible, really, because Alex lives and dies with the expression _a chef must taste everything they cook_ and Max has eaten so much already that he’s a little nauseous, and Daniel silently passes him a green iced tea with honey and pinches his butt when Alex isn’t looking. 

He lets a yelp, quickly pushing the straw between his lips when Alex turns with raised brows. “Sorry, ‘s just… cold,” he mumbles, lifting the drink in the air and glaring quietly at Daniel. 

Daniel’s laugh rumbles through the air, the echo of it ringing in Max’s ears even after he’s left the kitchen. Alex shoves a cookbook in his hands and tells him to read the recipe while Alex gets the glazed sweet potatoes out of the oven.

“Oh my god,” Max swears. “Hey, Alex?” 

“What?” Alex pops up beside him, glancing over his shoulder to the page Max is skimming. 

“Uh—I think we forgot to put in the maple syrup.” 

Alex raises his brows, and then his eyes widen in realization. “Shit—” 

The mixture simmering on the stove is too bitter and when Alex tries it, he coughs, face scrunching up in disgust. “Yeah, okay, no, what the _fuck_ —restart that, I’ll get the cranberries—” 

But Max is laughing so hard at Alex’s face that he has to take a few minutes to cool down, stomach aching by the time he manages to catch his breath. 

The day is filled with fuck-ups and swearing, but by the time it’s five p.m. Max’s face hurts from smiling so much. There’s flour in his hair and pie dough under his nails and a smear of pumpkin puree on his cheek, but Daniel’s looking at him with a fond grin as he emerges from the kitchen. 

“What time will the others be here?” He asks, untying his apron and dusting off the powdered sugar on his jeans. 

“I think in half an hour,” Daniel replies, inclining his head. He fumbles around his pockets before holding out a key chain to Max. “Why don’t you go take a shower at my apartment, I’ll set the table to make sure everything is ready for when they get here.” 

Max opens his mouth to say that he can just as well go home to change, but Daniel’s apartment _is_ closer, and there’s something about the fact that Daniel trusts him enough—that he feels so at ease with him, that he’d give Max the key to his house without hesitating—that has him closing his mouth again.

“Alright,” he says, smiling to himself as he takes the chain, fingers brushing past Daniel’s. 

It’s a little silly but he feels like skipping down the sidewalk as he makes the short walk to Daniel’s apartment. 

He listens to the keys jingling as he unlocks the door, staring at the ridiculous doormat on the floor for a beat before he enters. 

It feels dreamlike, almost as if he’s intruding. Daniel’s apartment is quiet, save for the refrigerator humming and the clock on the wall ticking rhythmically. Max’s footsteps echo as he walks into the bedroom. 

He takes a quick shower, washing all the dust off his body and wishing it would take the borderline filthy thoughts down the drain with it. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns the water colder. 

He’d try and come up with excuses but, really, who he is he kidding—he wants Daniel, so bad, wants every part of him, every inch of his skin and every smile that he smiles and every thought that crosses his mind. 

It’s strange to him—he’s never experienced want like this before. But as unfamiliar as the feeling is, it’s one that he doesn’t wish to run from, not when it wraps around his lungs and makes him feel like he’s finally breathing fresh air for the first time. 

He pulls on his jeans, wondering how rude it’d be to steal one of Dan’s hoodies and then, knowing that the least thing he’d do is mind, Max wonders how obvious it’d be to the others. 

He’s looking at the soft, cream-colored hoodie clenched in his hands when he realizes that he really doesn’t care. 

Checking his watch, he quickly grabs his phone and runs through the living room to snatch the keys from the kitchen counter, stopping his track as he walks past one of the floating shelves on the wall. 

His heart thumps in his chest as his gaze falls on two paper cups he recognizes instantly—one with black doodles inked all over, the Blue Coast logo nearly invisible under the drawings, and one with a surfboard on it. 

It’s hard to stop from smiling as he puts them back down. 

When he gets back at the café, two tables are set up in the middle and everyone’s seated already. There’s a spot reserved for him in between Daniel and George and he slips in his chair, awkwardly dodging Lando’s question of where he was and saying hello to the rest of his friends. 

After the attention has veered away from him to Lando, who swore he could fold a napkin-swan faster than Charles and Alex with close to no experience, Daniel tugs on one of the strings of his hoodie. “Good choice,” he says. 

Max bites on his lip to stop from grinning too broad. “You can choose next time.” 

Lando loses terribly (“How was _I_ supposed to know that Alex is some origami mastermind!”) and Alex claps him on the back before dragging Max to the kitchen to get the food. 

Charles is the first to notice. He stares at the hoodie Max is wearing when he sits back down, narrows his eyes before he looks up at Max. Max looks away, cheeks flushing. 

He doesn’t say anything, though the small satisfied smirk on his face says enough.

“Shouldn’t we, like, pray or something?” Lando asks, glancing at the dishes on the table. “Or, I don’t know, sing some psalms or whatever.” 

It’s deadly quiet for a moment before Pierre bursts out laughing. “ _Fais ce que tu veux_.” He laughs again. “Lando, _mon Dieu_ , I’m not sure how long I can keep it together if you start belting out Ave Maria right now.” 

Lando opens his mouth and sucks in a big breath of air, but George twists his nipple through his shirt before he can start singing and all that comes out is a yelp. 

“There are people present that would rather not get permanent hearing damage, idiot,” George deadpans. 

“I wasn’t actually gonna sing, you muppet!” Lando calls out offendedly, covering his nipples with both hands and glaring at him.

“I think the tradition is to say what you are thankful for, _cherí,”_ Charles cuts in, lips pressed together to keep in a laugh. “You know, _thanksgiving_.” 

“Well, then,” Lando starts, clapping his hands together. “I’m very thankful for the food that Alex and Max so lovingly made today, and I’m also very thankful that it’s going straight into my mouth right now, amen.” He’s barely finished his sentence before he stabs his fork into a piece of turkey. George snorts and rolls his eyes. 

Daniel takes a bite of the roasted squash and then _moans_ , the fucker. “This is _so good_ ,” he claims, eyes closed. 

Max has never felt so stupid before but the sound goes straight to his dick, and he has to look away before his cheeks start matching the color of the cranberries on his plate. 

“Why thank you,” Alex says, nodding at Max with a proud smile, “that one was Max’s idea, actually.” 

The dinner ends up being really nice. Daniel forces Max to say the word _gezellig_ again and again until it starts sounding strange in his ears, Nico accidentally starts an argument when he says that cereal should technically be considered a soup, and it results in two parties screaming against each other in French and German, Alex makes it worse by saying that ‘ _in that case, ketchup is actually a smoothie’_ , Daniel laughs so hard that beer comes out through his nose, Lando ponders out loud about how many 2nd graders he thinks he could take if they came in waves of 10, and George slaps his hand on his forehead so many times in one night that he’s sure to have a bruise there tomorrow morning. 

While they’re at it, old wounds are reopened and the discussion about the worst pet to have is started again. Max fumbles with the hand Daniel’s covertly rested on his thigh as he listens in, brushing over his fingers and carefully trailing the tattoos on his skin with his nails. 

Pierre and Nico agree with Lando that guinea pigs are completely useless, and Charles and Alex side with George on rats. Just before it gets too heated, Daniel forces down a laugh and cuts in, “Ladies, before you start swinging, I think it’s a good idea to save my tableware from an untimely end.” Everyone opens their mouths to protest, but Daniel adds, “People who vote for rats will do the dishes, and people who vote for guinea pigs will clean the kitchen.” 

Remarkably enough, everyone is fine with that, though Lando does grumble something about the unfairness of people who chose neutrality in the matter. 

After they’ve helped clean up the table, Max slings a leg over Daniel’s lap and rests his head on his shoulder as he listens to the bickering coming from the kitchen. Daniel’s thumb traces thoughtless patterns on Max’s thigh and he presses his cheek against the top of Max’s head. 

“Ketchup a smoothie,” Daniel scoffs to himself. 

Max chuckles. “I actually thought he had a point.” At Daniel’s horrified expression, he lets out a cackle. “No, just kidding, I still want you to be able to love me. I promise I don’t think ketchup is a smoothie.” 

Daniel’s eyes crinkle as a soft smile tugs up the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry, I do. I reckon I still would even if you told me that guinea pigs make better pets than rats.” 

He rests his cheek on Dan’s shoulder again, cheeks heating at the insinuation of his words, and groans. “Don’t tell me you’re in on it too.” 

“I’m not. Or at least, I’m not eager to stir in on this argument.” Daniel chuckles, the sound softly fading. “Hey, if you want, you can sleep over at my place tonight. Uhm—I’d want you to, obviously, just—whatever you feel like.” 

Max raises his head, but before he can reply, Lando screeches his name from the kitchen. He sighs and swings his leg down before getting up. In passing, he places a kiss on Daniel’s cheek, then straightens.

“Talk to me like that one more time and you’ll find out exactly why I was telling you about my right hook during dinner on Monday!” he bellows.

⁂

Daniel’s bed is much more comfortable than his own, anyway. 

⁂

With finals coming up, Max feels like he should probably start studying, so he takes his books and Daniel’s hand as they walk to Blue Coast on Sunday and drops into a booth near the back. Daniel begs him to come sit at the bar, but Max shakes his head and presses his lips together. “You’re distracting enough as it is,” he says. 

“I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not,” Daniel huffs, giving up soon enough before vanishing into the back to go and refill the coffee beans. 

He still spends half the time staring at Daniel, just from afar, and it hasn’t even been two hours when Max plops down on a stool with a defeated sigh. 

“Couldn’t resist these charms, could you?” Daniel grins. 

Max rolls his eyes playfully. “Never could in the first place. That’s the problem.” 

“Problem?” He scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “If you keep back-talking me like this I will have to do something about it.” 

“And what’s something?” Max asks. He rests his chin on his hand as he raises his brows, tapping his pen on his notebook. 

Daniel narrows his eyes before he shrugs. “I’m still deciding.” 

Max drops his hand and focuses back on his textbook, carefully copying _the computed results of the temperature and flow characteristics are consistent with the experimental measurements_ in his notes, and casually mentions, “I do recall something about spanking.” 

He means it only as half a joke but when he looks up at Daniel, his expression has gone delightfully stunned, lips parted. Max wants to laugh and instead finds that his cheeks have gone hot. He doesn’t dare look away, doesn’t _want_ to look away, not when Daniel’s eyes darken just in the slightest. 

And that might’ve been the lighting, but the heat curling in Max’s stomach tells him differently. 

The bell jangles and breaks the spell. Max clears his throat and fixates his gaze back on his notes. 

Right—he was working on natural convection and numerical methods of analysis, not on getting all in Daniel’s head, and simultaneously his own. 

He manages to get more work done for about an hour, and then it all gets worse again when Daniel holds out a cake pop for him. Before he actually thinks it through and takes the cake pop like a normal person would do, he leans over and takes bite, the stick still clenched in Daniel’s hands. 

He can hear Daniel’s breath hitching slightly and only then does he look up, face nearly falling in realization of what he did until he meets Daniel’s gaze, pupils dilated, nostrils flaring. 

“I—” he starts, voice wavering. 

Daniel lets out a tight breath and turns away to help a customer. His eyes flicker back to where Max is sitting with his hands clenched into fists next to his laptop. 

Oh, Christ. 

He packs his stuff slowly, knowing he won’t get anything else done as long as Daniel is right there. It’s not so much that Daniel is to blame—it’s just that he needs a cold shower at his student apartment _right now_. 

He kisses the back of Daniel’s neck, breathes a _see you later_ and leaves the coffeeshop. 

⁂

It only takes two knocks before Daniel opens the door later that night and then Max is onto him, lips smashed on his and collar bunched up in his fists. 

“Why’d you leave?” Daniel asks, laughing in between kisses. “And hello to you, too.” 

“Had to get at least some work done,” Max says, gently pushing Daniel down on the couch before placing his knees on either side of Daniel’s thighs and straddling his lap. “Couldn’t do that when you were right in front of me.” 

“Is that a—” 

“It’s not an insult,” Max cuts in, then adds, “Well, maybe it is.” His voice carries a cutting edge of eagerness. 

Daniel lets out a laugh, a low sound that rumbles through Max’s chest. He lifts his hand to brush some stray strands of blonde hair out of Max’s eyes. “What’s gotten into you, huh?” 

He’d say it sounds accusatory were it not for the fact that Daniel scrutinizes him with a look that almost makes him shudder. 

“Nothing,” Max breathes. “I just really, really like you.” 

Dan’s fingers brush over his face, first his eyebrows, then down his nose to his mouth,

and maybe it’s that recklessness again but Max parts his lips, making Daniel’s fingers freeze right on his lower lip. He shifts his head and carefully takes two fingers into his mouth, tentative to Dan’s reaction. 

When his gaze darkens, eyes flicking to his mouth, Max closes his lips around the fingers and _sucks_. 

A quiet groan ripples through the air, wrung from deep in Daniel’s chest. 

Like an elastic band being snapped, Daniel pulls his fingers from Max’s mouth and reels him in for a kiss. It doesn’t even start off slow this time—they’ve both been waiting too long for that. 

The slide of Dan’s tongue against his is warm and soft, and Max’s heart beats wildly against his ribs. Daniel’s hands move up, one resting on the back of his neck, the other cradling his cheek, and when Daniel slides his tongue over Max’s bottom lip before biting on it gently, Max feels his brain go abruptly blank, staticky. 

Then he drags his hands down Daniel’s chest, sitting back a little to fumble with the zipper of Dan’s jeans. 

“Do you—can I?” Max starts, eyes flicking up to his face. Daniel’s breath comes in ragged gasps and he nods, lifting his hips so Max can slide down his pants and boxers. 

Max slides from the couch in between Daniel’s legs, wrapping a hand around him. He’s half-hard already, precome beading at the top. 

He traces his fingers over his thigh tattoos, finally revealed in all its glory, and presses a chaste kiss on them. He wants to be good for Daniel, wants to be the best. 

He leans in, gives his dick a careful kiss, smirks at the hiss that it emits from Daniel. 

“Max—” He chokes out, cutting himself off when Max takes him into his mouth. “ _Christ_.” 

He opens up and goes down on him properly, taking him a little further every time he bobs his head down, slowly testing the waters of his own abilities. Daniel’s hands tangle in his short hair, his strangled moans better than any sound Max has ever heard before. 

Max doesn’t stop until he can feel the tip of Daniel’s dick touching the back of his throat, tears beading on his lashes as he fights his gag reflex. He pulls back when he nearly chokes, coughing roughly. 

He takes a moment to catch his breath, wrapping his fingers around Dan’s dick and sliding up and down as he looks up to Dan. His pupils are dilated, burning with lust, making Max’s insides melt. His own pants are painfully tight but there’s an adrenaline rush coursing through his veins that makes him forget all about it. 

Without warning, he takes a breath and takes Daniel’s dick all the way down, deeper than the first time. 

A string of curses comes from above him, fingers tightening in his hair. “Fuck—” Daniel gasps, hips bucking up automatically. Max chokes slightly, and Daniel pulls him up. “Sorry, I’m sorry—” 

“I need you,” Max breathes, lips shiny with saliva where he nearly presses them against Daniel’s. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Daniel’s eyes widen. Then his nostrils flare. “Okay—yeah, okay—” He kisses Max, open-mouthed and filthy and hot.

Max lets Daniel drag him to his bedroom, lets him crowd him up against the bed until his knees hit the mattress. 

“Are you sure?” Daniel whispers, pulling back for a second to look at him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Max stutters, “shirt off, pants off, all of it off.”

Daniel laughs, pressing a kiss on his lips before tugging Max’s shirt over his head. Hurriedly, Max wiggles out of his jeans, _why_ did he decide to wear skinny jeans today—

His mouth goes dry when he watches Daniel undress once he’s settled on his back, tan skin revealed inch by inch. Arousal pools in his gut and makes his untouched dick ache even more than it already did. 

Then Daniel gets in front of him, shifting until he’s leaning in between his legs. Light breaths of air fan the inside of his thighs and Daniel kisses them softly before sucking on the sensitive skin there, leaving dark blotches scattered around. Max twitches against his stomach. 

“Oh?” Daniel asks, raising a brow, and the brash expression doesn’t help. He wraps his hand around Max’s dick painstakingly slow, and Max lets out a wet gasp. 

“Please,” he rasps, voice wrecked. 

Daniel reaches over to the nightstand, the greater part of his weight pinning down Max. The lube is cold when he presses a finger to Max’s hole, and Max’s stomach stirs in anticipation of what’s about to happen. 

Despite that, he still feels a little nervous—unlike blowjobs, he has limited experience with sex with men.

Daniel works him open with one finger, then two, then three, muttering soft praise and sucking hickeys on the inside of his thighs. His stubble scratches over the skin. Max revels in the burn of it. 

He’s a writhing mess by the time Daniel slips the third finger in, sweating and panting on the mattress, pleading for _more, please, fuck, please._

Finally, the mattress dips as Daniel moves up, giving himself a few strokes to roll on a condom, and eyes Max up and down.

He twitches again. 

A smirk finds its way onto Daniel’s face. “You like being looked at?” He runs a hand up to Max’s hip. “You like having my full attention on you, all of this, just for you, don’t you?” 

His mind is too cloudy to argue against it, and it’s the truth, anyway. He wants Daniel, more than anything in this entire world, wants him every second of the day, wants to be able to feel him even days afterwards—

Daniel slowly, always so agonizingly _slow_ , presses in. 

Max chokes out a breath, fisting the sheets in his hands and trying to relax his muscles. 

“You okay?” Daniel asks, voice strained. He’s holding back, one hand on Max’s hip tightening painfully—in the back of his mind, he hopes it’ll leave bruises. 

He nods, a moan slipping past his lips and his eyes falling shut involuntarily as Daniel thrusts in farther. 

“Shit,” Daniel hisses, “you’re so tight.” 

When he’s fully inside him, he stops again, and the initial burn Max feels fades. He watches Daniel with half-lidded eyes, sweat shining on his brow, curls tousled wildly, his eyes nearly black with desire. Max’s gaze strays to his tattoos, then dip to where they’re locked together, Daniel’s hips flattened against his. 

“Please—” Max gasps, squirming, wanting Daniel to move. “Daniel,” he gets out, savoring the way his tongue curls around the word, so simple but so meaningful, _Daniel_ , beautiful and heart-wrenching and earth-shattering—

He pulls almost all the way out before snapping his hips and thrusting back in, and Max lets out a strangled whine, robbed of the air in his lungs. 

“You look so good,” Daniel exhales, voice gravelly, “You look so good like this, all for me.” 

Daniel starts a slow pace but, at Max’s pleading whimpers, speeds up, skin slapping on skin. He leans over, brushing blond hair from Max’s sweaty forehead and Max surges up to kiss him roughly, teeth clashing. 

“Max, fuck— _Max—”_

His name sounds so different when it rolls off Daniel’s tongue, like it actually means something, like it’s made for him and only him to say. 

Daniel changes the angle a little with every thrust until Max cries out, legs quivering, and he smirks. “That’s it, there you go, you’re so good,” 

He straightens again, tracing the curve of Max’s lip to his chin before his hand comes to rest just below his jaw, and Max takes his fingers and puts it a few inches lower, just letting it loosely rest on his throat. 

Daniel squeezes gently, more of a spasm than anything else, and his eyes widen when Max tightens around him. “Shit, Max—” he swears.

Pressure builds in the pit of his stomach and Max is desperate for release. He wraps his hand around his dick but Daniel pulls it off before stroking him himself,

and it doesn’t take much for him then, just a few more whispered praises from Daniel, who knows he’s close. “Look at me,” he says, “I want to see your face when you come,” and then Max is coming all over his stomach with a shuddering gasp. 

“Look at you,” Daniel pants, eyes pinching shut when Max tightens around him again. 

“All for you,” Max breathes. 

Daniel’s hips stutter as he thrusts in fully one more time, and a few seconds later he collapses beside Max, careful not to crush him with his weight as he slips out of him. 

Despite the mixture of sweat, come and saliva that makes him feel a little disgusting, he feels blissful. He can’t find the right words to say when he turns his head to Daniel, who’s already looking at him, a flush high on his cheekbones, and instead kisses him, softly this time. 

They’re both too tired to take a shower so Daniel gets a damp towel from the bathroom and just like before, a giggle involuntarily escapes Max, but this time it doesn’t make him feel so self-conscious. Daniel looks at him with a twinkle in his eyes and a fond smile on his face and Max feels like he’s floating. 

Minutes later, when he’s curled into Daniel’s side and they listen to each other’s heartbeat and the faint traffic sounds in the distance, Max hopes from the depths from his heart that Daniel knows he makes him a better person. 

He is bleeding love, and he never wants it to stop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter left guys !!! how are we feeling? <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations are in the end note, so scroll down if you want to read those!!
> 
> there's also one more bit of smut in this so skip over that if it makes you uncomfortable :)

Lando is nothing if not curious, and it’s impossible not to notice the way Lando keeps glancing at the hickeys on his throat—he’d tried to cover them up earlier this morning, but it’s not like he’s going to wear a damn turtleneck to class, so eventually he’d just given up. 

They’re walking across campus, gravel crunching underneath their feet as they cut straight through the lawn. Lando tugs on the straps of his backpack, listening intently as Max tells a story about one of his professors. 

“and—okay, out with it,” Max states mid-way through, abruptly stopping on the sidewalk and folding his arms. 

“What?” Lando asks, eyes wide. 

“You’ve clearly got something on your mind,” Max says with raised brows. “So, spit it out.” 

“Uh—” Lando starts, clearly thrown off-guard. He opens his mouth, closes it again. “I just, uh—” 

Max groans desperately. _“What!”_

“I just didn’t think it’d be Daniel!” Lando squeaks out, voice an octave higher than before. Max stares at him, dumbfounded, before he lets out a laugh. 

“Okay, and… do you have a problem with that? With that it’s Daniel, I mean.” 

“What? No, of course not,” Lando quickly defends, throwing his head back with an annoyed groan and turning on his heel to continue the walk home. Max walks after him, jogging two steps to keep up with his pace. “I’m just cursing my own stupidity and blindness. How could I _not_ have noticed?” 

Max presses his lips together to keep in a laugh, nodding pitifully. “Well, I know how you feel, trust me. It took me ages to find out Daniel liked me back.” 

“What?” Lando snorts. “No. I knew Daniel liked you from the first moment I met him. I was talking about _you_ , idiot. I thought you liked someone else, to be honest, especially because you looked at him like you wanted to choke him at one point.” 

“Well, actually…” Max trails off. 

Lando makes a gagging noise and elbows him in the ribs. “I did _not_ need that piece of information.” Max throws his head back and laughs, hand pressed to his stomach. 

They share a comfortable silence during the subway ride, but right before Lando unlocks the door to their apartment, he stops and says, “I’m really glad you finally got your shit together. He—you look… brighter. I’m really happy for you.” 

His throat closes up and he couldn’t reply even if he wanted to, so he just shoots Lando a wobbly smile and squeezes his shoulder. 

⁂

Pierre is more subtle about it. He claps him on the back as he walks past, gesturing to the hickeys. “Nice one.” 

“Thanks,” Max says slowly. 

“Looks like she’s a fine artist,” Pierre grins. 

“Uh—it’s a he, actually,” he gets out, a little bewildered. Pierre’s grin falters, eyes widening. George chokes on his water behind them, then bursts out laughing. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, staring at Max for a second before he nods sagely. “Good choice.” With one more pat on his shoulder, he vanishes down the hallway. 

Max turns on his feet to look at George, who looks back just as dazed. Then George cracks a grin and raises his glass. “Cheers.” 

He huffs out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he walks into his room. “Cheers.” 

⁂

Monday morning and rush hour aren’t a good combination, especially not when Max is lowkey stressing out about finals. He has one more shift before he has the next week off, and he spends the entire morning running around like a headless chicken, bumping into Charles and cursing every time he knocks something over and apologizing every time he’s in someone else’s way. 

When they’ve finally worked through the line of people and they can take a breath again, Charles disappears into the kitchen to get the freshly baked muffins and Daniel grabs Max by the shoulders, shaking him gently. 

“Breathe,” he says sternly. “Stop stressing out. You’ve been doing great so far this year, and you’re not suddenly going to mess up your finals.” 

“But it’s just—” 

“No! Enough of that.” Daniel pushes him towards the register. “Go ask that kind lady what she wants to order so I can start force-feeding you cake pops after she’s gone.” 

“I don’t—” he starts, but Daniel has already turned away, “—need any more cake pops,” he grumbles to himself as he plasters a smile on his face. “Good morning, what can I get for you today?” 

After he’s made her a macchiato—he’s gotten pretty good at those, even if he says so himself—he turns to Daniel, who’s standing next to the register, scribbling something on a blank paper with a marker. 

“What’re you doing?” Max asks, coming up to stand behind him and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Dan grabs his wrists and wraps his arms around his own waist. 

“Nothing,” he says casually, but his tone betrays trouble. “Just making a drawing of you.” 

“That’s _me?”_ Max gets out incredulously, snatching the drawing from the counter. 

“Hey!” Daniel calls with a laugh, trying to grab it out of his hands, but Max backs away until he’s cornered against the counter. 

Max takes the paper in both hands so Dan can’t pull it away. “My nose isn’t _that_ big,” he scoffs, standing on his toes and lifting the drawing out of reach. 

Daniel backs him up further, nearly forcing him to sit on the surface. One hand comes to rest on the side of his thigh, almost as if he’s going to lift Max up. When Max meets his gaze, it’s full of challenge, and it makes his insides churn with want. “No,” Daniel replies, his voice carrying a fiery edge, “but I did get you to smile for the first time this morning.” 

He’s so close that he can feel Daniel’s breath fanning his face. He wants to lean in so bad. 

With shaking fingers, he lowers his arm and hands back the drawing, taking in the warm brown of Dan’s eyes for another moment before letting himself down from the counter. 

But instead of taking a step back, Daniel stays where he is, chests pressed together, staring brazenly. 

Max clears his throat. They’re still at work, Charles is still around here somewhere, the customers in the shop can still see them. 

Daniel quickly presses a kiss to his cheek, a bright grin appearing on his face. “I’m getting the cake pops,” he yells over his shoulder with a cheer before he disappears into the kitchen. 

He stares after him, heart beating erratically, and he takes a moment to steady himself. Then he breathes in sharply and grabs a rag from the sink to clean up the milk he spilled earlier. 

Suddenly Charles is next to him, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, scrutinizing Max with a tilted head. Max opens his mouth to ask what’s going on, but Charles beats him to it. “You two are cute,” he says, pushing himself from the counter and letting his arms drop to his sides. “Sickening, but cute.” He flashes Max a knowing smile. _“Tu en as un pris de temps.”_

His cheeks go red. 

Daniel returns from the kitchen with a box just as Charles walks past him and he looks back and forth between them, question marks in his eyes. “You good?” 

“Yeah,” Max says, letting out a long breath. “You know what—I changed my mind. I think I’m gonna need a _ton_ of cake pops, actually.” 

⁂

Studying doesn’t work when Max is around Daniel, and they both know it, though that doesn’t stop Daniel from texting him non-stop and asking him if he’s sure he won’t come over to study at Blue Coast. 

_No_ , he replies every time, _I think you might have a problem with your short term memory._

_Perhaps. Someone should attend to me before I do something stupid, probably. Won’t you come over to study here? I’m bored without you._

And that’s how it goes throughout the entirety of the day. At one point, Max has to turn off his phone and hand it over to Lando so he won’t be tempted to check his notifications every three seconds. 

Daniel does manage to convince him to come over a few days before his finals start, promising that he’ll behave and that he’ll let him study in peace, so Max leaves for Daniel’s apartment with clean clothes and a ton of textbooks. 

If he does this more often, he thinks to himself on the subway, he’s going to get himself a disc herniation before he’s twenty-five. 

It starts off fairly well, with both of them curled up on the couch, Max in one corner with his legs stretched out and Daniel on the other side. He has his laptop, a notebook and a textbook perched on his lap, one marker in his hand and a pen between his teeth. 

Daniel is reading a book (“I didn’t know you could read,” Max had teased him. “It’s mainly pictures,” Daniel had replied—fair enough) and softly bumps his head along to the song that plays on his record player. 

But it’s not even been an hour when Daniel starts tickling the underside of his foot. 

“Stop it,” Max says, kicking off his hand half-heartedly. “You’re distracting me.” 

“I would never,” Daniel huffs, raising his brows and placing a hand over his heart. 

“You are!” 

“Fine.” Daniel rolls his eyes, though Max can tell he’s not actually mad. He rolls off the couch and folds his legs underneath him on the carpet, letting his back rest against the side table. “I’ll go sit farther away, then.” 

“Thank you,” Max says, stifling a laugh and focusing back on his notes. 

Ten minutes pass. Max swings his legs down from the couch before his foot falls asleep and Daniel shuffles until he’s sitting against his legs instead of the table. Max rolls his eyes but says nothing, hint of a smile on his face. 

“What do you wanna eat for dinner tonight?” Daniel speaks up, flipping the page of his book. “The grocery stores are closing soon and it's too cold outside to go to a bigger one far away. I was thinking we could get Indian, but I could also cook—” 

“You’re doing it again,” Max whines, throwing his head back in exasperation. “I’m supposed to be memorizing the principles of heat transfer, not thinking about how badly I’m craving chicken curry.” 

“And you’re blaming me?” Daniel asks, dropping his book on the carpet. It flops closed with a muffled _clap_. “I thought you told me you were great at not letting yourself get distracted.” 

“Yes!” Max cries out. “I am great at that, actually, you’re just… testing me.” 

“I’m testing you?” Daniel crosses his arms and raises his brows. “If I was really trying to distract you, you’d be looking very different right now.” 

The insinuation of his words make a pool of heat form right in the pit of his stomach. 

He should say _alright, good to know, have a good day_ and go on with his business now, but Max is nothing if not impulsive. He blurts, “Try me.” 

Daniel’s brows shoot up to his hairline before the hint of a self-satisfied smirk appears on his face. He turns around with a hum. “Maybe I will.” 

Oh, Christ. Max inhales sharply, pulling his textbook back on his lap and desperately trying to focus on the words. 

But it’s a lost cause, especially when Daniel keeps drawing non-existent figures up and down his shin, making goosebumps appear on his skin. He reads the words but takes none of them in. 

Daniel turns and sits up to his knees so he’s eye-level with Max, then leans forward, hovering an inch from his mouth. His breath his hot on Max’s face and Max shrinks under the intensity of Daniel’s gaze. Then Daniel kisses him, softly, carefully, until he slides his tongue over Max’s lower lip and bites on it gently, making Max’s mouth open with a quiet breath. 

He doesn’t want to pull away, hell, there’s nothing he’d rather be doing right now, but— “We shouldn’t—I should—” 

“Right,” Daniel breathes, leaning back and sitting down on the carpet again. “Principles of heat transfer. Why don’t you read it aloud? I think I could learn a thing or two,” he says innocently, but there’s an edge to his tone that tells Max that learning about heat transfer is the last thing on Daniel’s mind right now, and he’s about to make it Max’s problem. 

“Oh, that’s not necessary—” 

“I think you should read it aloud.” 

His breath catches at the vigor in Daniel’s voice and he slowly takes his book, tearing his eyes off Dan’s face to skim the page until they find the paragraph he was working on before. “Okay, uh—uhm, _solar radiation is composed primarily of visible and near-infrared radiation…_ ” 

Daniel rests his cheek on Max’s knee, gaze never leaving his face as Max runs through the paragraph. Right as he flips the page, Daniel presses a kiss to the inside his knee, but when Max looks at him like a deer caught in headlights, Daniel just nods. “Go on.” 

But it’s pretty difficult to focus when Daniel presses a kiss to the inside of his leg whenever he ends a sentence, a little higher up each time. A low heat flares to life in his stomach, goosebumps appearing underneath his sweats, and his body is hypersensitive, painfully aware of every touch Daniel brushes over his skin. 

He’s half-hard before he realizes it. 

“Daniel,” Max whispers, uncertain if it’s a plea for more or a request to stop, and his voice wavers when Daniel’s hands move to the waistband of his pants. 

“Is this okay?” He asks softly with a glance at Max, fingers halting. Max bites on his lower lip and nods, almost forgetting how to breathe when Daniel unties the knot and wiggles his sweats down far enough until he can wrap a hand around him. “Alright, keep reading.” 

He almost wants to ask if this is a fucking joke but Daniel gives him a look that tells him there’s no room for objection and he inhales sharply when Daniel slides his hand up and down, grip still a bit rough. “If you look at a single number for emissivity,” he starts again, breathing in and out through his nose, “you will miss an important characteristic of certain materials…”

Daniel hums in acknowledgement, sliding his thumb over the tip to spread the bead of precome there. 

“For example, both unpainted metal surfaces and white surfaces have high reflectivity when—oh my _god_ ,” Max gasps when Daniel takes him in his mouth unannounced, “Jesus Christ—” 

He starts with just the tip, sucking gently and pulling off when Max remains quiet. “They have high reflectivity when, exactly?” 

“Uh, when—when summed over all bands and so both reflect much of the solar radiation striking them—” 

Daniel licks a broad stripe up the underside of his dick and takes him back in his mouth, slowly bobbing his head up and down and going further down every time. 

Max’s knuckles have turned white by how hard he’s gripping his stupid fucking textbook, trying to read the words. 

This is torture. It’s _everything_. 

“But when—when—” Max attempts, breaking off in a moan when Daniel takes him all the way down and he can feel the tip of his dick hit the back of Dan’s throat. 

Every inch of his skin is on fire, his stomach turned to liquid. Pressure builds at the bottom of it. Max’s fingers find Daniel’s curls and tangle themselves in the mass, eyes closing on instinct. He tugs on Dan’s hair and chokes out a gasp when Daniel moans around him. 

That’s something he’s going to remember for sure. 

But the high he’s so desperately chasing gets snatched just out of reach when Daniel pulls back until his lips are wrapped around only the tip, eyes flicking to the book. 

“No,” Max states, though it comes out weaker than he wants to. He’s not going to read another passage about fucking heat transfer. 

Daniel pulls off with a wet pop, hand wrapping around his dick and squeezing just below the crown. “Be a good boy,” he says, voice rough, “and I’ll let you come wherever you want.” 

And it shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but _fuck_ , Max’s stomach goes all into knots at the words. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about this before. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, Max swallows hard and glances at the page again. “Values for reflectivity—” he gets out, trying to keep breathing when he feels Daniel’s tongue all over his dick again, “—and emissivity of materials—” 

Daniel swallows him down and stills, focusing on his breath and trying to fight his gag reflex. A few stray tears trickle down his face, leaving wet trails on his cheeks and making his lashes stick together. He takes one of Max’s hands and guides it to his hair and, getting the hint, Max locks his fingers in the curls and tugs. 

“You look so good like this,” Max croaks, forfeiting the textbook temporarily. Daniel glances up at him, eyes big and bright, and Max feels his gut tighten. A gentle pinch on his thigh reminds him to continue. “…paints and… low-emissivity products—are— _fuck_ , Daniel—” 

Daniel hums appreciatively, lifting his head and jerking him off quickly. “Want you to come in my mouth,” he says, and Max barely has time to even process what he’s said, let alone react to it, before Daniel sucks on the crown his dick and hollows out his cheeks,

and then he’s coming, hard, and Daniel swallows all of it without even blinking, just coaxes him through it with an appreciative hum. 

Max lets himself sag against the couch, chest heaving, his clothes too hot and skin too sweaty. “Oh my god,” Max mutters, flinging an arm over his eyes. He can’t believe this just happened—he can’t believe the effect Daniel has on him. 

Then he drops his arm again and stares at Daniel, still on his knees in front of him, looking at him with a raised brow and a smirk. 

Max pulls him up by his collar and kisses him, eliciting a low chuckle from the depth of his chest. 

But before he can get his hands on Daniel, he’s already pushed himself off the couch. 

“Where are you going?” Max asks, breathless. 

Daniel turns to look over his shoulder. “Take a shower,” he says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, “You should get back to studying.” 

_“What?”_

“You heard me,” Daniel shrugs, voice sounding way too smug for his straight face. “I think you wasted enough time just now.” 

He’s going to _kill_ _him._

“Jesus—you—you are—” Max starts, both incredibly turned on and thrown off guard. 

Daniel stops in his tracks and raises a brow, smirking. “Insufferable?” 

“Irresistible,” Max grumbles, letting himself fall back on the couch. Daniel leaves the living room cackling, his laugh echoing through the air. 

⁂

“Are you going home for Christmas?” Daniel asks one morning when they’re lying in bed, legs tangled up underneath the covers. Daniel’s arm is slung over Max’s shoulder, pulling him close to his side, Max’s head nestled on top of Dan’s chest. It’s nice to lie like this, so close to each other, so shielded off from the outside world. Here, it’s just the two of them, no expectations, no worries, just sweet oblivion in the shape of kisses leaving beard-burns and a pair of strong arms around him. 

Finals start in two days and, surprisingly enough, Max is pretty calm about it right now. 

“No,” he replies, shifting his head so he can listen to Dan’s heartbeat. He lets his fingers dance across the smooth planes of Daniel’s stomach, watching goosebumps appear at his touch. “I wasn’t planning on it.” 

“Why not?” Daniel asks softly, tentatively, his voice full of that quiet reassurance that he can tell him everything but isn’t obligated to do so. 

The holidays are always a difficult time for Max, so he tries not to think about it that much. It’s hard to ignore the excitement everyone seems to share for Christmas, especially when there’s a buzz going around New York during December that keeps building up, but he pushes it out of his mind. He doesn’t do Christmas trees, or dinners, or gifts. Christmas is just another hardship to conquer. 

“I told you about the relationship between me and my dad, right?” Max starts hesitantly, fingers not faltering as they draw circles on Daniel’s bronze skin. 

“Yeah,” Daniel says, “I remember that.” 

“That’s the reason,” Max replies simply. “I’ll have a better time here on my own than I will with my dad.” 

Daniel is quiet for a moment, contemplating. “What about your sister? Your mom?” 

Max inhales deeply, pressing his cheek harder against Daniel’s chest. “My sister was supposed to come over for Christmas, actually. It would’ve been the first time I’d seen her in nearly two years.” He shrugs. “But with the pregnancy and all… we decided to call it off. It’s for the better, anyway.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” The frown is evident in Daniel’s voice. 

He doesn’t want pity. It sucks, but it is what it is. He’ll be fine spending Christmas on his own. His roommates are all going home, so he’ll at least have the apartment to himself. 

“When are you going home?” Max asks, the movements of his fingers wavering. He hadn’t wanted to think about Daniel leaving up until now, simply because he can’t imagine what it’ll be like not to see him for more than two days in a row. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Max stills, lifting his head to look Daniel in the eye. “I thought you were going home?” 

His brows knot together. “Why would you think that?” 

“Uh…” Max’s cheeks flush a little. “Well, you don’t have a tree up, or any decorations for that matter… I don’t know, I just thought it meant that you were going home.” 

The crease between his brows slowly vanishes, making way for a soft smile. “I’m not. Why’d you think I asked if you were going home? Just to laugh in your face and _au-revoir_ my way onto the next plane to Perth?” 

Max shrugs and puts his head back down. “Why are you not going home, then?” 

Daniel folds a hand behind his head, glancing up to the ceiling. “Same thing as you, I guess. Got some familial problems that I’m not eager to solve during the most wonderful time of the year. Besides, I’m fine with spending it here, in the snow, with…” he trails off. _You._

“Is your nephew going to send a new drawing?” Max asks.

A grin appears on Daniel’s face, bright as ever, gaze still casted up at the ceiling. “I hope so. That’s a good one, actually—I was going to send him a Christmas card. Thanks for reminding me.” 

Max snorts. “You’re… welcome.” 

Daniel pulls his hand from under his head and halts Max’s hand, still drawing figures on his stomach, to intertwine their fingers. It’s a simple gesture but it still manages to make Max’s heart skip a beat. 

“I was thinking we could spend Christmas together. If you want.” 

Max looks up, resting his chin on the soft spot just below Daniel’s collarbone. Daniel stares right back, gaze flicking from one side of Max’s face to the other. The brown of Daniel’s eyes reminds him of home, funnily enough, back when it was still home. Back when he still lived his mother, when he was still inseparable from his sister, when they used to play in the snow until their faces were pink from the cold and his mom had steaming mugs of hot chocolate ready for them. But Daniel’s eyes also remind him of Blue Coast, when he walked in for the first time ever and saw this breathtaking man standing behind the counter, whistling an off-key tune from some old tv-show, grinning brightly at him. _“What can I get for you today?”_ He’d asked, the Australian accent surprising Max. His eyes remind him of endless afternoons spent drinking americanos, of painful longing turning his bones liquid, of new beginnings and wanting and _dreaming._

Max smiles, humiliated to find his eyes burning at the thoughts crossing his mind. It feels ridiculous to admit that he’s scared, because he finally has Daniel, but he’s scared _because_ he finally has Daniel. Before all of this he couldn’t lose him, but now he can, and that realization makes Max's blood freeze in his veins. 

A frown appears on Daniel’s face and he brushes his thumb over Max’s cheekbone. “Are you—” 

Max leans over and kisses him. He doesn’t want Daniel to frown, doesn’t want to see Daniel distraught ever again, least of all be the cause of it. He smooths the crease between Daniel’s brows with a finger, then lets his hand slide down to cradle Dan’s cheek. 

“I’d like that,” Max whispers against his lips. “With you.” 

It’s him. It’s always been him.

⁂

Max gets through his finals with little sleep and lots of coffee. Alex’s notes prove to be a lifesaver once again, and so does Lando, who brings him americano after americano, forcing him to eat a banana every now and then too. 

He goes to Blue Coast straight after he finishes his last final, beaming even though he has trudge through three inches of snow to get there. 

The bell has barely stopped jangling behind him before Daniel sweeps him into his arms and spins him in a little circle, snowflakes flying everywhere over the hardwood floor. 

“Stop!” Max shrieks, slapping a hand over his mouth when he remembers to keep his voice down for the handful of customers that are inside. Daniel lowers him back to his feet but keeps him locked in his arms, peppering kisses all over Max’s face. 

“You’re so cold,” Daniel remarks, but continues, unbothered by Max’s blue lips. “How’d your last final go?” 

“It went alright,” Max starts. 

Daniel pulls back and raises one brow. 

He can’t help but beam as he rocks back and forth on his heels. “Okay, it went great. Better than great.” 

Daniel grins and lets out a cheer, letting Max go at last but immediately grabbing his wrist to drag him to the counter. He pushes Max on one of the stools and helps him out of his coat. 

“Hey mate,” Alex greets him from where he’s cleaning the sink. Daniel hip-checks him out of the way so he can make coffee and Alex walks over, leaning against the counter. 

“Thanks for your notes,” Max says, resting his chin on his hand. “You saved my life. Seriously.” 

“No problem, it was nothing. Oh—I have something for you, by the way.” 

Before he can say anything, Alex has disappeared into the kitchen and Max glances at Daniel with a furrowed brow, who just shrugs but, from the way his mouth curves up at the corners, knows more than he lets on. 

Alex emerges with a plate and almost fails to keep in a grin. On it is a frosted cake, elegantly decorated with white icing and colorful sprinkles. There are three words neatly piped on top in purple: _congrats, you’re gay._

Max laughs so hard he nearly falls off his chair, then crushes Alex in a hug despite his protests. 

The cake tastes better than any other dessert Max has ever had. 

⁂

Buying a Christmas tree and dragging it up three flights of stairs to Daniel’s apartment was quite exhausting and they must’ve fallen asleep after, because when Max wakes up it’s dark outside and Daniel is wrapped in his arms on the couch, his back pressed to Max’s chest and fingers twined protectively around Max’s wrist. 

Max huffs out a soft chuckle, then tries to untangle their bodies carefully without waking Dan up. 

He’s just getting started on dinner when a loud groan comes from behind him. “Oh my god, did we fall asleep?” Daniel asks, voice groggy. Max turns around just as Daniel lifts himself up to his elbows, blinking the slumber out of his eyes, hair flattened against one side of his face. “What time is it?” 

“It’s almost nine. I thought that maybe we should have dinner,” Max replies, turning back to the stove and tossing chopped onions in the pan. 

“Yeah,” Daniel grunts, collapsing back on the couch. “Gimme a second, I’ll come and help.” 

They finish cooking together and have dinner at the little bar in Dan’s kitchen. Daniel adds a ridiculous amount of parmesan to his pasta, then proceeds to the same to Max’s plate until he’s screaming at him to stop, laughing so hard that he’s out of breath. 

Barely an hour later, Max proposes to set up the Christmas tree. 

“What, now?” 

“Yes, now,” Max says, rolling his eyes playfully. 

“Okay,” Daniel nods. “Okay, yeah, let’s.” 

There’s a few boxes with Christmas decorations in the storage downstairs and Max sprints up the stairs to stop Daniel from slapping his butt too hard. Daniel makes inappropriate jokes about Christmas songs as he puts on a playlist and Max attempts to untangle the lights but ends up only making it worse. 

“And then she just—mate, what the _fuck_ are you doing?” Daniel interrupts himself, letting out a loud laugh. “C’mere, I’ll help.” 

Turns out that Daniel’s spatial awareness isn’t that great either because instead of straightening out the knots he just ties himself up in the lights, and Max laughs so hard he has to sit down, tears streaming down his face. 

Daniel folds his arms and pouts and Max snaps a picture before Daniel can snatch the phone out of his hands. 

It takes them a grand total of thirty minutes before they finally manage to have the entire string of Christmas lights laid in front of them, completely uncoiled. By the time they’ve weaved the lights through the branches, it’s almost twelve already. 

“Come on, we have to keep going,” Max whines when Daniel spreads out on the carpet, “or it’s going to be Christmas before we even finish decorating this fucking tree.” 

Daniel cackles and lets Max help him to his feet, lifting the lid of one of the boxes and rummaging through it. 

Max is just admiring the evenly divided lights when Daniel wraps a ribbon around him. He spins on his feet to object but Daniel is giggling like a little kid and it’s adorable, and he lets Dan lace his fingers through the ribbon and pull him closer. 

“D’you remember when we danced together?” Daniel asks, resting forehead against Max’s. He lets go of the ribbon and wraps his arms around him instead. “God, that feels like a lifetime ago.” 

“I don’t think it's impossible to ever forget,” Max murmurs, closing his eyes, hands closing around Daniel’s bicep and digging into the flesh there. He has to be certain that this is real, that he’s not dreaming. Then his eyes fly open. “But _don’t_ think I’m ever dancing again.” 

Daniel barks out a laugh. “We’ll see about that.” 

“No, we won’t,” Max states. If he could fold his arms over his chest right now, he would have. 

“Look!” Daniel’s eyes flick to the window behind Max, his mouth open in a silent o. “It’s snowing outside.” 

Max tries to turn back on his feet but steps on one end of the ribbon, losing his balance. “Oh, shit—” 

Daniel tries to grab him and only succeeds partially, falling half on top of Max but preventing him from knocking his own teeth out on the floor.

“Oh my god—” Max curses, turning on his side to face Daniel, who’s hanging over him, one hand splayed on the floor next to his head. Daniel is laughing so hard that he can’t even speak anymore, curls bouncing wildly as he tries to catch his breath. 

The skin next to his eyes crinkle in the way Max likes so much and he wrings a hand free to poke the dimple on Daniel’s right cheek. It’s difficult to refrain from laughing when Daniel is—his grin is just so infectious. 

Max is drunk on something entirely different than alcohol, heart swelling in his chest to the point where it’s almost painful. 

There is love and then there’s Daniel, two words in the same category yet so vastly different. 

And as much as being in love frightens Max—because he’s already mourning the day he’ll lose Daniel—he’s trying to embrace that fear as well, to accept that it’s a part of him and their relationship. 

“D’you wanna go outside to look at the snow?” Daniel asks, still gazing at Max from above. 

He balks. “No, I do _not_ want to go outside to look at the snow.” 

“Oh, come on,” Daniel pleads, eyes flicking back and forth to the window. 

“The snow will still be there tomorrow,” Max says. “I’m not gonna let you get a cold, dimwit.” 

Daniel sits back on his knees, folding his eyes triumphantly. “It’s not like you can stop me, tied up like you are.” 

Max is still wrapped in the goddamn ribbon and looks down, trying to find a loose end. “Yeah. We should do that more often.” 

At Daniel’s slightly baffled expression, he cackles. 

“Some other time! Get me out of this shit,” he complains, stretching out his free arm. Daniel leans forward to give him a quick kiss before hauling him to his feet and finally releasing him from the jumbled material. 

It’s nearly two in the morning when they step back to admire their work, having finished decorating at last. More than a few ornaments have perished and Max is pretty sure he still has glass splinters under his foot, but Daniel pulls him into his arms and presses a kiss to the top of his head so it’s all good. 

Christmas is in five days. He can’t remember the last time he was actually looking forward to it. 

⁂

The day before Christmas, it’s busy as shit and to say they’re understaffed is an understatement; it’s Daniel and Max and a never-ending queue before them. Nico, Alex and Charles have all gone home for the holidays, and so have George, Pierre and Lando, though Max hasn’t been in the apartment since they left. 

After lunch, it finally calms down a bit. Max refills the coffee beans in the machine, flicking the few he’s dropped Daniel’s way and giggling when he splutters a few cursed protests. They play hangman on a paper cup even though there’s a million tasks to be done and Max accuses Daniel of cheating when he picks the words _zugzwang_. 

“That’s not even a real word!” Max calls out, looking at his little hanging man on the cup with a sour expression. 

“It is!” Daniel laughs. “I promise you it’s a real word, it’s got something to do with chess—” 

“I don’t care,” Max grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. _“Volgende keer kies ik een woord wat jij ook niet kent, dan zullen we eens zien hoe leuk jij dat vindt._ _Dit is gewoon oneerlijk.”_

“I’m not sure what you just said, but I’m guessing—” 

_“Ik weiger ooit nog galgje met je te spelen,”_ Max continues, glaring at Dan. 

Dan lets out a laugh and pulls Max into a forced hug. “Oh, is someone mad? Can’t stand losing?” He says teasingly. “Is that it, baby? You can’t stand losing.” 

“Shut up.” Max rolls his eyes, then turns his head to kiss Daniel before he can stop him. He breaks free of the embrace and walks backwards to the register, a smug grin on his face. “I got a kiss at work so I still win!” 

“Asshole,” Daniel mutters under his breath, though the smile is evident in his tone. 

Max’s expression falters when he spins on his heel and comes face to face with Dilara. Her hair is a little ruffled, stray snowflakes caught in the dark strands, her cheeks and tip of her nose turned pink from the cold. 

“Hi,” she smiles brightly, eyes twinkling. 

“Hi,” Max gets out. “Uhm—uh, do—what can I get for you today?” 

“A flat white with almond milk, please.” 

Max shakes to himself and punches in the order on the register. “Right, of course.” No sugar, just sweetener. He hands her the change. “It’s been a while,” he says as he grabs a carton of almond milk from the fridge. “How have you been?” 

Dilara walks past the counter and takes Max’s usual spot at the bar, watching him with an expression he can’t really decipher. “I’m… good. I’ve been doing good,” she answers, suppressing a smile when he hands her the coffee, plastic lid left off. “What about you? You look… I’m not sure what it is, but you look different.” She squints one eye. 

Max places one hand on the marble counter, corners of his mouth tugging up. “Brighter?” He supplies. 

Dilara smiles. “Yes. That’s it.” 

He’s surprised to find that her boyfriend isn’t with her. More than that, he’s surprised to notice the stinging feeling at seeing her, or rather, the absence of it. He’s so used to feeling some sort of homesickness whenever Dilara is mentioned that it’s weird not to feel it for once. 

“You look very happy,” she continues. 

Daniel brushes past him and pinches his side, making Max yelp. “Oh, hey,” Daniel says, stopping in his tracks when he notices who Max is talking to. “Dilara, was it?” 

She nods, eyes flicking from Max to Daniel and back. “Yeah. It’s nice to see you again, Daniel.” 

“You too,” he smiles, waving one more time before he’s off to help new customers. 

Max watches him saunter to the register, heart content. Dilara is staring at him when he turns back. The whole absurdity of the situation hits him like a brick in the face—the last time he’d seen her, Daniel had only pretended to be his boyfriend, and now the situation is different entirely. 

“I’m really happy for you, Max,” she says, tilting her head. Her dark hair sways to the side. “I think that he was exactly what you needed.” 

And he doesn’t tell her, but he thinks so, too.

⁂

It snows on Christmas morning, and they spend the majority of the day in bed, watching the flurry of snow drift through the air. Max brings Dan freshly brewed coffee and pastries and Daniel pulls him back on the bed, not caring that coffee sloshes over the rim and nearly splatters on the mattress, kissing him breathless. 

They promised not do any grand gifts, but to do gifts nonetheless, so Max crosses his legs and pulls a wrapped package from underneath the bed. 

Daniel raises his brows as he gently tears off the paper, brows furrowing as he opens the carton box, then his eyes widen in recognition. “Oh my god, Max, what—” He carefully lifts the cup, spinning it around in his hand to get a better look at it from all sides. “How did you do this? It’s amazing.” 

Max shrugs, cheeks burning. “I took the cup from your shelf. I’m just lucky you didn’t notice it was gone for like, a week.” 

In Daniel’s hands is a copy of the doodled cup Max had given him so many months ago, but this one is a tumbler, the design neatly printed on the material. 

In retrospect, he thinks it’s a little lame, but no big gifts meant that he had to scrap all his other ideas. “I could’ve given you an orange but, well…” He shrugs. 

Daniel laughs, puts the cup down and squishes Max’s face between his hands to kiss him. “I love it. Thank you.” Then he pulls back and opens the drawer of his nightstand, fumbles with a small object and turns back to Max. “I, uh—I got you this.” He sticks out his hand and drops a cold metal item in his palm. 

It’s a key. 

Max slides his fingers over the golden brass and ragged edges, heart in his throat. 

“It’s the key to my apartment,” Daniel says, a edge of uncertainty in his voice when Max remains quiet. “It’s not like you have to move in with me or anything, I just wanted you to have a key because, well—uh, I feel this apartment is as much yours as it’s mine, and if—” 

He’s pretty sure that if he speaks up right now, his voice will break and he’ll just start crying, so Max hauls Daniel in by his collar and kisses him hard. 

Daniel lifts his hand and lets it rest on the back of Max’s head, gently raking his fingers through the short strands at the base of his neck. 

“I love it,” he whispers, hands tightening in Daniel’s shirt to refrain him from pulling back. Even so, Daniel can still taste the salt of Max’s tears dripping down his cheeks and instead tugs him into a hug, arms wrapping around his back and tucking Max into the crook of his shoulder. He shifts Max until he’s half-sitting on Dan’s lap, then Daniel pulls him even closer. 

“I’m sorry,” Max croaks. 

“Don’t,” Daniel warns him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” 

Max squeezes his eyes shut, feeling Daniel’s heartbeat against his own from where their chests are pressed together. 

After a long silence, Daniel softly says, “I love you. You know that, right?” He tightens his arms around Max in a gesture of solace. “I love you, Max Verstappen. Nothing is going to change that.” 

It’s somehow such a relief to hear that, and Max doesn’t know what he’s ever done to deserve Daniel, who seems to understand Max better than Max understands himself most days. 

“I love you too,” Max whispers against his shirt, the words a little muffled. 

It’s Christmas Day, and Daniel Ricciardo is the biggest gift Max has ever gotten. 

⁂

On the 28th of December, Daniel is cooking dinner and talking to Max about the weirdest thing that ever happened to him on New Year’s Eve, when Max gets a text from his brother-in-law. 

His sister has gone into labor. 

Despite his craving of fried rice he had earlier, he’s lost all his appetite. Daniel nudges him to the couch but he can’t focus on the reality show that’s playing on tv, and Dan watches him carefully as Max chews on his thumbnail. 

He’s nervous, keeps glancing at his phone screen, reads and rereads Tom’s message, curses himself out for not being there. 

Amid the chaos inside his head is one stark question: what is he so afraid of? 

He waits, and he waits, and he waits. The hours tick by incredibly slow. He grabs his charger from the bedroom and plugs it in. Walks around for a bit. Sits down, glances at his phone, opens his messages. Nothing new. Gets back up again, paces up and down the living room. 

Daniel follows everything with a slight frown, eyes never leaving Max. 

He’s scared because he wants to be a good uncle. What if he can’t live up to that? He’s scared because he wants to see his sister back in the Netherlands. What if he gets in another fight with his dad? 

What if he fails his sister _again?_

“Talk to me,” Daniel says, sounding almost desperate. “What’s on your mind?” 

Max stops pacing, turning to face Daniel. “I—” 

His phone pings from the other side of the room. Max all but dives to it, unlocking it with shaky fingers and opening his messages. 

It’s a picture of his sister, looking sweaty and exhausted and absolutely _blissful_ , a smile on her face as she looks down at the bundle in her arms, a little pink face amid the white blankets. _Alles goed hier_ , reads the message Tom sent with it, _je zus is een topper!_ _We bellen zsm, dan kan je Luka ontmoeten. Hopelijk binnenkort ook in het echt!_

“I’m an uncle,” Max chokes out with a disbelieving laugh. Daniel has gotten up from the couch and glances at the picture of Max’s shoulder. 

“You’re an uncle,” Dan affirms, smiling lightheartedly. 

Max drops his phone and crashes into Daniel’s arms. His eyes do that stupid thing again where they release unwarranted tears and Daniel shuffles them around, laughing as he sings _Baby_ by Justin Bieber. 

Half an hour later, they’re sitting on the carpet, Max’s legs thrown over Daniel’s and leaning against his side. His phone is lifted in front of his face, and he can’t stop smiling at the screen. 

His sister tells about the past few hours in rapid Dutch and Max only half-realizes that Daniel can’t understand a word he’s saying, too excited to switch to English. She shows the little bundle in her arms, cooing as tiny fingers wrap around her thumb. The screen is blurry, or maybe that’s Max’s eyes—he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. 

Daniel wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes reassuringly. He says hi to Victoria and her son and congratulates her, but leaves the rest of the talking to Max. 

When they end the call, it’s nearly three in the morning. Max sags against Daniel’s shoulder, who rests his head atop Max’s. It’s quiet for a long moment, save for the humming of the refrigerator. 

“We could visit them, you know,” Daniel starts, quickly correcting himself, “ _you_ could visit them.” 

Max raises his head and grabs Dan’s hand. “We could go to the Netherlands,” he says softly, almost like he’s testing the words on his tongue, thinking them over. _“We.”_

If there’s one person he’d like to go to the Netherlands with, it’s Daniel, but to be fair, he’d go to the end of the earth for him if he asked. 

“No obligations,” Daniel says. “Just think it over.” 

He does. 

When they’re lying in bed a little later, bunched up under the covers, hands intertwined where they rest on top of Max’s chest, Daniel says, “It’s okay to be scared, you know.” The dark is quiet and comforting and Daniel takes a beat before he continues, “Hell, I was scared shitless when my sister gave birth. Suddenly I’m an uncle and I feel so responsible for a kid that is not even mine and I feel the need to live up to all these expectations.” 

It’s almost unfair how close the words hit to home. 

“What I’m trying to say is… I understand. And that’s normal. Just please—please don’t bottle that up.” Daniel turns his head, breath brushing past Max’s face. “Please talk to me. You don’t have to do all of it alone.” 

Max has never been particularly great at expressing his emotions, so instead he leans in and gives Daniel a chaste kiss on the lips. “I will,” he says hoarsely. “I will, I promise.” 

He squeezes their intertwined hands and moves them to rest over his heart, feeling the beat against his ribcage. 

It’s almost New Year’s Eve. Max is an uncle, and he’s in love, and he’s nearly graduating. He’s not just scared of the first, he’s scared of everything. So many things are changing and it _frightens_ him. 

He’s scared, but as long as he has Daniel, he thinks he might be able to take on the entire world. 

⁂

January starts with melting the snow off the streets, though there will undoubtedly be a few inches of it layered on top by the end of the week. The sun is shining outside but it’s still cold, and Max is glad that he’s sitting inside at the bar, steaming mug of tea in front of him.

He’s scrolling on his laptop, closing some tabs that he doesn’t need anymore and opening a new one. He figures it wouldn’t hurt to look at flights to the Netherlands. _Just think it over._

Daniel is behind the counter, whistling along to the song playing on the radio as he cleans the espresso machine. Every now and then, he looks up to the window—for the past hour, a bunch of kids have been sitting on the sidewalk, shrieking and laughing with each other as they chalked down drawings on the pavement.

Max watches as Daniel gets from behind the counter and walks towards the front door, pressing a kiss to the top of Max’s head in passing. Faintly, he can hear Daniel asks the kids if they want anything to drink. _C’mon, I’ll give y’all some hot chocolate._

Max smiles to himself as he hears their excited clamoring grow louder, boots stomping on the floor to get rid of the icy bits under the soles.

Checking his watch, Max closes his laptop and slides it into his backpack. He shrugs on his coat and leans over the counter to give Daniel a kiss. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Daniel replies, pulling him back to give him one more kiss. “Have fun, just not too much.”

“It’s Charles.” Max rolls his eyes. “How much fun can it be?” Daniel laughs at that, waving once more before Max pulls the door shut behind him.

He carefully steps over the drawings, taking a few strides back to take a good look at it. It’s the Blue Coast logo, a little crooked, a sun chalked behind it. There’s something that Max thinks is either coffee beans or confetti, and pastries around it.

He zips up his jacket, glancing inside through the window at Daniel, who’s precariously balancing too many cups in his hands as he strolls to the kids’ table.

He stares for a little longer, warmth blooming inside his chest despite the cold. Then he turns on his heel, looking at the chalk once more before he goes on his way.

There is color on the sidewalk, and Max feels like he could take on the entire world if he wanted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _tu en as un pris de temps_ = it took you long enough 
> 
> _volgende keer kies ik een woord wat jij ook niet kent, dan zullen we eens zien hoe leuk jij dat vindt. dit is gewoon oneerlijk_ = next time i'll choose a word you don't know, then we'll see how much you like that
> 
> _ik weiger ooit nog galgje met je te spelen_ = i refuse to ever play hangman with you again
> 
> _alles goed hier, je zus is een topper! we bellen zsm, dan kan je Luka ontmoeten. hopelijk binnenkort ook in het echt_ = everything ok here, your sister's a hero. we'll call asap, then you'll be able to meet Luka, hopefully in real life soon too
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------
> 
> ...that was it!! i'm so so grateful for every excited comment you guys left. comments make the writing absolutely worth it and your support means the world to me. i hope you liked this story as much as i loved writing it. 
> 
> please leave a comment or come find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sundaycore) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/sundaycore) !!!
> 
> take care,
> 
> marise <3


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